Spilled Blood
by Fluffy-CSI
Summary: FINISHED: Ch 27 up. Casefile, BA. When a college professor is brutally murdered, Goren and Eames must investigate the dirty underbelly of academia.
1. The scene

A/N: This is my first try at a CI fanfic as well as my first attempt at a real casefile (up to now, I've done pretty much just CSI fluff), and I am not sure how well it's working out. I would be really grateful for any comments you guys might have, especially about canon errors I might have made or how good/bad my characterizations are.

Disclaimer: Dick Wolf's, not mine

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"Ugh," muttered Detective Alexandra Eames as she cautiously picked her way around the smears, blobs, and puddles of blood that saturated the room she'd just entered. She'd seen bloody crime scenes before, but never one covered quite so thoroughly.

"Watch where you step, Goren," she said over her shoulder. Her partner, though not really a clumsy person, had large feet, and she could tell that he was going to have a hard time following the path of small bloodless patches that she was using to cross to the body.

Mindful of her warning, Bobby Goren carefully worked his way across the room. As he maneuvered, he thought about how odd it always felt when he was made aware that his partner, who had the presence of someone eight feet tall, was actually quite small. Small enough that he probably could have picked her up with one arm and carried her over the blood, had he not been aware that that would more than likely lead to the loss of some of his important body parts.

By the time Goren reached the body, he was walking mainly on tiptoe and wishing fervently that CSU would finish photographing all this blood soon so they could put a tarp down to walk on.

Eames, who was crouched down over the bloody form that was sprawled on the floor, looked up when she saw one of his well-shined dress shoes come into view and give him a sad smile. "Poor guy," she murmured, looking back down at the mutilated thing that had once been a man.

Goren squatted down beside her, nimbly folding his large frame into the limited floor space between Eames and a large swath of blood a foot away. "Maybe," he said after a second, belatedly realizing that she'd been speaking to him. "But this . . . this is brutal. The person who did this had to have hated the victim, and there's usually a reason for hatred like that."

"Are you saying that maybe he deserved to be killed?" Eames asked, surprised to detect something akin to pleasure in his voice.

"No," he told her as he pushed up the body's left shirt cuff with his pen. "I'm saying that this case is going to turn out to have an interesting motive."

Acknowledging that with a small nod, Eames stood up and turned to the nearest CSU tech, who was photographing a short trail of blood drops a few feet away. "Do we know who this guy is yet?"

"No ID on the body," said the tech without lowering her camera, "but mail on the kitchen table is addressed to a James Li."

"Do you know if -" Eames began.

Goren's voice interrupted her. "Eames."

That was his hey-look-I-found-something pronunciation of her name, and she quickly turned her attention back to the body, waiting for Goren to explain.

"Look," he continued after a second, using his pen to push up one of the victim's pant legs.

"The same marks," Eames mused. The man's leg was covered with small, clean lacerations that looked identical to the ones she'd already seen on his face and arms.

"They're all about an inch long," Goren said, leaning into the body to get a closer look, "but varying depths. Smooth edges . . . no visible debris in the wounds." He sat back on his heels, cocked his head to the side, and fell silent as his eyes roamed over the body.

Eames, noticing that he was mouthing words to himself, was content to wait until the Bobby-processor finished its cycle.

Finally, he looked back to her, shaking his head. "Hundreds. Maybe thousands of them." He pointed to to the leg. "The cuts on the extremities are more inflamed than the ones on the face and torso."

Eames nodded with a sigh. "So they worked from the outside in, taking long enough for the immune system to start working on those cuts."

"It would have taken a long time, with the care they seem to have taken with each cut," Goren agreed. Drawing her attention back to the corpse's calf, he pointed to one of the more visible cuts on it. "Very antemortem." He moved the pen to the upper arm. "Still antemortem, but closer to the time of death."

"Because they're less swollen," Eames said, filling in the chain of logic he was following.

"Right. And these," he said, pointing now to the neck, "are perimortem. The cuts on the face may even be postmortem. It's . . . hard to be sure until the blood's washed off."

Looking around the room, Eames again took in the red-spattered walls and floor. "And unless there's another victim we don't know about . . ."

"It's all from him," Goren finished. "He bled out." With a frown, he added, "That shouldn't have happened. Look, there's almost no clotting in any of the cuts. Hey, Lambert," he called over his shoulder to one of the uniforms on the scene, "was the vic immunosupressed?"

"We didn't see any medical records lying around," replied the younger man, "but there's nothing visible to suggest he was ill at all."

"He's right," Eames said, taking another look at the room. "No prescription meds, no oxygen, no sharps container. Do you think th-" she started, turning to her partner only to find him on the floor almost eye-to-eye with the body. "Goren?"

"Pupils . . . not dilated," he muttered, seeming not to hear her. "No unusual odor on the skin or mouth."

"Goren," she repeated patiently, used to his inadvertent silent treatment.

He looked up at her. "If he wasn't immuno-compromised," he said slowly, "then someone or something _made _him immuno-compromised. That's the only way we could end up with -" He waved his hand toward the bloody floor. "- this. Does he have an ID yet?"

Holding back a joke about his lack of attention, she shook her head. "Presumptive, but not established."

"Presumptive?" he said, looking back at the body.

"James Li. Hey," she added, catching the attention of the CSU team leader, "anyone been through the apartment?"

The tech shrugged. "My guys checked for secondary scene involvement, but it looked clean. Didn't touch anything."

"How about you guys?" Eames asked, moving her eyes to the cops still on the scene.

Lambert shook his head. "Only to clear it for suspects."

"Good," said Eames. "Ready, Bobby?"

Goren nodded and took her the hand she proffered to help him up off the floor.

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"Nothing looks out of place," Eames said a few minutes later as they stood in the doorway of the victim's bedroom. "You see any ID?"

"There's a, uh . . . wallet over there," Goren said distractedly, pointing Eames toward the nightstand while keeping his own eyes on the large dresser that took up most of one wall.

Heading for where he had been pointing, Eames shook her head with a quiet laugh. "You've really got to teach me how to do that," she told her partner as she slipped on a pair of gloves and plucked the wallet off of the nightstand.

Goren, focused on sorting through a pile of coins and cuff links, mumbled, "Do what?" without moving his eyes from his task.

"Walk into a room and spot the most important thing within three seconds," Eames replied. "Ok, I got an ID." Slipping it out of the wallet compartment, she passed it to Goren. "New York license. James Li, date of birth 8-2-65, eyes brown, hair black."

"Sounds like our guy," Goren said, examining the plastic card. "Looks real."

"The hologram looked right to me," Eames agreed. "So we've got a name. Find anything useful over there?"

"Big collection of . . . pocket change," he said, spreading out the coins with one finger. "Were there cuff links on the body?"

Eames thought about that. "I don't think so . . . Hey, Dan," she called through the doorway. "Does the body have cuff links on?"

A few seconds later, Lambert shouted back, "Nope. No watch either."

"Watch is . . . up here," Goren supplied, holding it out for Eames to examine. "Rolex."

"Nice," she said with a nod. "Which brings us to the question of his occupation. I'll start checking the other rooms," she added, patting his arm as she passed to get his attention.

Pulled out of his thoughts, Goren looked down at her hand and back up at her, and then nodded vaguely.


	2. Paperwork

"So," said Deakins as he ushered Goren and Eames into his office, "what have we got?"

Eames slipped into one of the chairs in front of the Captain's desk, glancing up at Goren, who leaned against the arm of her chair rather than sit in the other one. "The victim is a Dr. James Li, age forty," she said, shifting her weight in the chair.

"He's a . . . professor of linguistics at Empire State University," Goren answered before Deakins could ask the question. "Judging by the papers in his apartment, he's a syntactician."

"A syntactician?" Deakins repeated blankly.

"Syntax is a branch of linguistics," Eames supplied, sliding a printed out webpage across to Deakins. "It deals with grammatical rules and word order."

"If you say so," Deakins said, shrugging, "I was always better at math. What else?"

"ME's preliminary exam says that cause of death was exsanguination," Eames said, "due to multiple lacerations."

Deakins raised an eyebrow. "Meaning . . .?"

"Torture," Eames spat. "They cut him hundreds of times, none big enough to kill but collectively enough to make him bleed out."

"With . . . the addition of some kind of anti-clotting device. Maybe a blood thinner or anti-thrombolitic," Goren added.

The captain shook his head. "Sounds like the kind of scene I'd still be having nightmares about five years from now."

"Definitely a possibility," Eames sighed.

"So where are you taking the case from here?"

"We don't have anything . . . really suggestive," Goren said, opening his leather-bound portfolio. "CSU hadn't found any useable prints or trace when we left the scene."

"I made sure they had us on speed dial," Eames said. "If they find something, we'll be the first to hear it."

"We spoke with the chair of his department," Goren said, tapping his pen against the legal pad in his portfolio. "He's preparing a copy of Li's schedule." _tap-tap-tap "_Also . . . faxed us his class rosters." _tap-tap-tap_

Before speaking, Eames reached out and snatched the pen from his hand. Fending off his attempt to steal it back, she tucked it into her jacket pocket and nudged him. "That's annoying," she admonished gently. Turning back to Deakins, she switched smoothly back to the topic at hand. "It's past office hours now, so we're headed over there first thing in the morning. The department chair promised to set up a space for us to interview co-workers and students who dealt with the victim."

"Sounds good," said Deakins, hardly cracking a smile at his detectives' antics, which he'd long ago gotten used to. "Why don't you guys take some of the paperwork you're always behind on and head out early? That way you can be ready for school bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Ooh, paperwork," Eames said with obviously fake enthusiasm. "Not even the first day of school, and we're already getting assigned homework. Come on Bobby, we gotta get ourselves home before curfew."

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"Oh _god_," Eames groaned later that night. "We're not even inside yet, don't take that stuff out!"

Goren obediently slipped the paperwork he had been about to hand her back into his portfolio and unlocked the door of his apartment. "After you."

Eames let him usher her into the apartment and made a beeline for his kitchen, dropping her bag on the kitchen table. "Got coffee?"

"Mmm," Goren mumbled, nodding his head toward a kitchen cabinet as he hung up his topcoat and set the portfolio on an end table. Eames had been to his apartment often enough to know exactly where to find his food supplies, but she always asked anyway. He theorized that it was her way of pointedly not invading his domain without permission.

Eames dug the coffee out of the cabinet and set Goren's high-tech coffee pot working, then hopped up onto the counter and sat a few feet away from it, watching Goren. "Food? Paperwork?"

Goren shrugged as he approached the source of that attractive coffee scent. "Whatever," he told her leaning one hip against the counter a few inches away from her. "Your choice."

"Hmm," she said, unclipping the barrette that had been holding her hair back and slipping it into her pocket. "If it's my choice, I vote that we burn the paperwork."

Goren watched her actions and, reminded of what had happened earlier, held out his hand. "May I have my pen back?" When Eames looked blank, he explained, "It's in your pocket. You confiscated it when we were with Deakins."

"Oh, right." She fished two pens and a paper clip out of her pocket and dropped the more expensive pen into his open palm. "You're lucky I took it before Deakins threw something at you. You didn't even realize you were tapping, did you?"

"No," he said, turning away to open the fridge. "I never do. You want sandwiches, or do you want to get takeout?"

"Umm," Eames said as she pulled two mugs from another cabinet. "Let's do takeout. I feel like Chinese." Pouring the coffee into the two mugs, she stirred a spoonful of sugar into one and slid it toward Goren. "Your turn to call."

Not bothering to argue, Goren picked up the phone and dialed, ordering sesame beef for himself and dumplings and lo mein for his partner. "Where'd I put that class roster?" he asked as he hung up the phone. "Oh, and they said half an hour." He accepted the folder from Eames and wandered into the living room as he flipped through it.

Eames, rolling her eyes, slid off the counter and followed him, one coffee cup in each hand.

She found Goren sitting on the couch, kicking off his shoes. Patting the cushion next to him with one hand, he held out a sheet of paper with the other. "You get the Monday, Wednesday, Friday classes."

Perfectly willing to avoid regular paperwork for another few minutes, she smiled. "Trade ya." She handed him his coffee, took the paper he was holding out, and sat down, slipping her shoes off and then curling her legs under her as she leaned against the arm of the couch.

They read in silence for a few minutes, occasionally noting down names that appeared in more than one list. Gradually, Goren's concentration on the list faded and he looked up, trying to re-focus himself. Instead, his attention was caught by Eames's position. "Why do you do that?"

Startled, she looked up. "Do what?"

"Sit on your feet. You do that any time you're on a couch. Doesn't it cut off the blood supply?"

Eames smiled tolerantly. "It's comfortable. And it doesn't do any damage to your limbs if you do it right."

"What's 'right'?" he asked, drawing one leg up and trying to copy her posture. "Ow."

"It helps if you're not four sizes too big for the couch, first of all. And I'm not actually sitting on my feet. I'm sitting on my butt with my feet under my thighs."

"How can you . . ." Goren began, leaning over to scrutinize her legs.

"Quit it!" she said, pushing at his shoulder. "My butt is not here for your entertainment."

There was a long moment of silence as Goren politely pretended not to catch the dirty implications of her statement and Eames tried not to seem aware that she had said anything out of the ordinary. Then she lost control and started snickering. "You know what I mean!"

Goren smirked. "Your butt's more entertaining than paperwork."

"Bobby!" she exclaimed, swatting him with her paper. "Get back to work."

"Yes ma'am." Chastising himself for having let slip the fact that he thought about his partner's butt, he stared determinedly at the class list in his hand. "You know, there's a lot of repeat names in this list."

"Mine too," she said without looking up. "Seems to be about four or five of them. Who do you have?"

"Sara King, Jim Owens, Alejandro Torreira, and Andrew Kim are all in both of the classes I've got."

She nodded. "I've got all of those except King, and one you don't have: Jana Wu."

"These are all . . . high-numbered courses. 450, 503, 612 . . ."

"Graduate classes?"

He nodded. "Probably. In which case, it's not that unusual to have repeats. They're probably his advisees."

"Ooh, PhD politics. There's a scene I'd rather not get involved in."

"We just might have to," he replied, handing her his printout as he stood up at some unheard signal. "But comfort yourself with the fact that you won't need to wear your old Vice clothes if you go undercover." He reached the door just as the delivery man knocked on it and quickly relieved the man of their dinner with a muttered _thanks_.

As he put the bag on the coffee table, Eames, without turning towards him, said, "You want me to pay you back or should I get lunch tomorrow?"

"Lo mein," he said, not bothering to answer her question as he presented her with the container. "And . . . dumplings."

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"Did you ever wonder why we don't just carry permanently-running tape recorders in our pockets?" Eames said a few hours later, launching another completed call form in the general direction of the table.

"That wouldn't be logical," responded Goren, who was slouched so far down on the couch that his calves dangled over the far side of the coffee table his feet had been resting on a few hours earlier. "It would need to be transcribed, which would take as many man-hours as filling out the forms in the first place."

"Pragmatist," she said with a snort that made it clear that she didn't intend the word as a compliment.

Goren just shrugged. "How many more do you have?"

"_Way _too many." She paused to count them. "Fifteen forms, at twenty minutes per form . . ." She shook her head. "And it's already nine o'clock. Damn."

"Oh, come on," he teased, elbowing her. "I bet you can finish them in less than five hours."

She perked up a little, pleased to see the playful side - the "Bobby" side - of her partner emerge. "You want to bet, for real?"

He looked at her suspiciously. "With what terms?"

She thought about that. "If it takes me longer than five hours . . . you do the paperwork for the next few days. If I finish in less than five hours . . . name your prize."

"Sucker bet," he said, shaking his head. "You can alter your speed to draw it out for hours longer than you'd really need."

"Oh, come on," she said, rolling her eyes. "You're sitting right here to supervise me."

"True," he said, looking thoughtful. "Ok, you're on. But if you cheat, the agreement is voided."

She stretched out one leg and just managed to kick him. "I am not a cheater, Goren."

"Did I say you were?" he said innocently. "Better start working."

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Three hours later, Eames was in the middle of her tenth form. Her pen had slowed down considerably, but she was doggedly pushing on, determined to conquer the pile of forms by the end of the night.

Goren, who had begun with a smaller pile and therefore finished earlier, was alternately working on a cryptogram and watching Eames. He could tell that she was tiring - her handwriting was getting looser and she was letting her head rest against the couch cushions - but she refused to throw their bet. Somehow, he wasn't surprised.

Reminding himself that it was rude to stare, he returned his attention to the puzzle and filled in a set of E's.

Half an hour later, he was jolted out of his concentration by the sensation of something touching his shoulder. Looking down, he found his partner slumped against his left arm, eyes closed and pen still in hand. Poor Eames. She'd been so determined to win the bet that she'd fallen asleep mid-form. Bemused, he just watched her for a while, waiting for her to wake up, apologize, and ask for coffee; however, after two minutes, she remained asleep.

Shaking his head with a small smile, he decided to let her have a short nap and went back to his cryptogram. A three-letter word ending in E that appeared four times in the two-line puzzle . . . had to be _the_. He filled in the T's and H's and smiled to himself, sensing victory.

An hour later, he caught himself just on the edge of dozing off as his head drooped, and forced his eyes open. Evaluating his situation, he noticed that Eames was still sleeping peacefully against his arm, which was beginning to get numb. The clock on his VCR informed him that it was one o'clock in the morning.

They had to be at work at in less than eight hours, he thought with a sigh. Better send Eames home so they could both get some sleep. "Eames," he whispered, twitching his arm under her head. When she didn't respond, he tried again. "Eames?"

"Mmph," she mumbled, raising one hand to rub at her eye.

When she let her arm fall back to her side and didn't say anything more, he rolled his eyes. He knew few people who could sleep as heavily as his partner, when she was determined. "Alex," he tried, holding her head up with one hand as he extricated his shoulder from under it. "Wake up."

She didn't respond for a second, and then her eyes fluttered open. "Wha?" she muttered, making no effort to pull away from his supporting hand.

"You fell asleep."

She looked down at the papers in her lap, then back up at him. "Did I win?"

He chuckled. "You fell asleep with three forms left, so I guess you did."

Giving him a smug smile, she finally sat up. "Told you."

"You see before you a willing slave," he acknowledged. "Now, it's past one and we both need to get some sleep."

He couldn't hold back a grin when Alex groaned, "I'm already comfortable here; I don't wanna move."

"You got a change of clothes in your car? You can stay here if you want," he offered. It wouldn't be the first time one of them had spent the night at the other's apartment; post-dinner police work tended to lead to sleepy detectives. "The guest room's all yours."

"Yeah," she said, rolling her neck to relieve the kinks from dozing in such an odd position. "I think I'll take you up on that."

"I'll go get your stuff," he offered. "Keys?"

"My bag," she said, gesturing to where she'd dropped it in the kitchen. "Thanks."

"No problem," he said lightly as he went to fetch her car keys. "Get yourself settled."


	3. The first interviews

_Transcript of Interview: Dr. Henry Jones_

_Interviewers: Det. A. Eames, Det. R. Goren_

Eames: Good morning, Dr. Jones. Thanks for taking time out of your day to speak to us; we know you're busy.

Jones: I wouldn't expect you to postpone your investigation just because it didn't happen to be convenient for me.

Eames: Thanks, we don't often get to talk to people who can think that reasonably when faced with a policeman and a tape recorder. Speaking of which, would you please state your name and occupation for the tape?

Jones: Dr. Henry Jones, chair of the Department of Linguistics at Empire State University

Eames: And your connection to Dr. Li?

Jones: I was his . . . officially his supervisor, I suppose, but more like a colleague, in reality

Goren: Were you, uh, friends? Socialize at all?

Jones: We socialized at department and school events, to some extent. You know, colloquia, luncheons, that sort of thing. I wouldn't call us friends, though. James tended to hold himself aloof.

Goren: From you?

Jones: From everybody.

Eames: Do you know anyone who was close to him, who could maybe provide us with more details about his life?

Jones: Dr. Robi, perhaps. Their research ran along the same lines, so they spent a lot of time exchanging ideas

Eames: Ok, I'll make a note to speak to him. Do you have his office number?

Jones: 4026. Down the hall and to the right.

Goren: Thanks. Can you give us . . . some insight into his personal life? Did he maybe have enemies, rivals?

Jones: Enemies . . . well, academia can be kind of cutthroat and petty a lot of the time, so I suppose it's possible that he was in a feud with someone . . .

Eames: Like who?

Jones: Oh, I wouldn't know -

Goren: Guess. If you had to make a list, who would you say was most likely to argue with him?

Jones: I suppose you mean here at Empire State. Academic rivals would mostly be scattered all over the country, maybe the world.

Goren: Ok, let's keep it limited to people here for now. We'll worry about the long-distance people later.

Jones: Umm . . . Sandra Adams was often at odds with James - but usually just because he was rude to her, not because of some big feud.

Eames: You'd be surprised how far a little rudeness can go. Any reason he was rude to her, in particular?

Jones: James . . . liked to make himself feel superior. The fact that Sandy is female made her an easy target when he was looking to feed his ego.

Eames: Was their relationship strictly professional, or was it personal also?

Jones: You mean like dating? I wouldn't know. Short of them kissing at a staff meeting, I would have no way to get that information.

Goren: That's fine, Henry. Can you think of anyone else who might have had . . . trouble with Dr. Li?

Jones: I suppose Murph might . . .

Eames: Murph?

Jones: Fred Murphy, the ex-department chair. He was always on Jame's back to act more like a teacher and less like a competitor to his students. James resented the hell out of it. By the time Fred retired, the whole department was on tenterhooks trying to keep them apart so we didn't end up with a fist fight. But really, Fred is _not _the type of person who would kill another human being! I really don't think any of the people I'm telling you about had a good reason to murder him - and even if they did, we're academics, for god's sake! We just theorize about things, we don't actually do them!

Eames: You're probably right, but it's our job to get all this information so we can rule them out.

Jones: James just wasn't well-liked, in general. There could be dozens of people he's made enemies of, and that's not even counting his students.

Goren: His students? Did they . . . dislike him?

Jones: He was famous for being . . . a stickler, I guess you could say. He expected students to make his classes and his research their top priorities, no matter what. A lot of them couldn't, or wouldn't, do that, and they had trouble with him because of it.

Goren: What, exactly, do you mean by "trouble"?

Jones: I don't know how familiar either of you is with the academic hierarchy, but a professor who takes a dislike to a student can make that student's life very difficult without much effort. For example, an offhand comment to a colleague that the kid tends to slack off could make most of the department think they're not worth funding. Grading the kid's papers just a tad harder than everyone else's . . . you get the picture

Goren: That's . . . very interesting, thank you. We have these class lists here; do you think you could point out which students were in that kind of situation?

Jones: I can try, but it'll really only be gossip. You'd be better off talking to Bhat; he might have heard it from the horse's mouth.

Goren: Bhat?

Jones: Dr. Robi

Eames: We're going to make sure to talk to him later today. In the meantime, though, who can you pick out - even only as possibilities?

Jones: Ok, well . . . Sara King and Jana Wu both got his typical "female treatment," so they probably weren't on good terms with him. Jim Owens and Alejandro Torreira are both good, which might lead to ego clashes. Andrew Kim . . . you know, you might be able to get more information on James from him. He was his favorite advisee; they spent a lot of time closeted in his office.

Goren: That's great, thank you.

Eames: Thank you again, Dr. Jones. We'd appreciate it if you could avoid discussing this interview with anyone in the department until we've spoken to everyone we need to.

Jones: Sure.

Eames: Thanks.

_End Interview_

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Goren typed the last few lines of the conversation they'd had with Henry Jones, leaned back in his chair, and stretched. His fingers were cramping already, and they were probably going to have a dozen more of these to type by the time they finished the investigation. "Next one's yours, Eames," he said, catching her eye across their desks.

"Oh, I don't think so. I won the bet, remember?"

"What bet?" asked Deakins, catching her last few words as he came out of his office.

"Paperwork," the two detectives said in unison.

"A bet about paperwork?" Deakins shook his head. "And I thought _my _gambling habits were boring."

"Trust me, it's better than it sounds," Eames said, directing a smug look at Goren. "So, did you need us for something?"

"Updates?"

Goren gestured to the computer monitor. "We spent the morning doing interviews at the school. I just finished transcribing the department chair's; you want me to e-mail it to you?"

"Yeah," Deakins said, turning back toward his office. "And keep me posted on the rest of them. Oh, and guys?"

Eames looked at him innocently. "Hmm?"

"Unlicensed gambling's illegal in this city."

Eames grinned, watching Deakins retreat into his glass-walled office and close the door. "Little does he know."

"Don't gloat. How many more do I have to go?"

"For now, just one: Sandra Adams. I'm trying to line up interviews with Murphy and Rabi right now."

"Mmm." Resigned to his task, he turned back to the computer.

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_Transcript of Interview: Dr. Sandra Adams_

_Interviewers: Det. A. Eames, Det. R. Goren_

Goren: Thanks for speaking to us, Dr. Adams

Adams: No problem. I can't believe something like this actually happened to someone I know . . .

Eames: Would you please state your name and occupation for our tape recorder?

Adams: Dr. Sandra Adams. I'm a professor of linguistics at Empire State University.

Eames: And what was your relationship with Dr. Li?

Adams: We were co-workers.

Goren: Did you . . . get along with him? Professionally, I mean.

Adams: Well, uh . . . professionally, we were ok. Personally, we didn't get along.

Eames: What do you mean by "personally"?

Adams: What? Oh, no - no way! Not that kind of "personal." I meant that when it came to functioning within the department's confines, we got along ok, but our personal opinions about a lot of things . . . clashed.

Eames: Can you give us some examples?

Adams: Um . . . well he had this bad habit of questioning the other professors, aggressively. He'd listen to a presentation of your research, and then instead of asking questions that would help him understand or help the speaker know where they could go next, he'd ask questions designed to tear the speaker's argument apart.

Goren: Professional competition.

Adams: To some extent. I think he also just did it because he enjoyed embarrassing other people, though. Me, for example.

Eames: You?

Adams: I was one of his favorite targets. He thinks . . . I mean _thought_ that women's capabilities were almost automatically inferior.

Goren: So he'd be especially hard on your presentations?

Adams: Yes.

Eames: Did he treat other women the same way? Or was it just you?

Adams: I think he probably treated all women like that, but since I'm one of the few women in this department, it always seemed to come down on me.

Goren: So you . . . disliked him.

Adams: I thought he was an asshole, yeah. But if you're . . . I mean, if you think I might have killed him, you're wrong. I think a lot of other people are assholes, too, and I haven't killed anyone, ever.

Eames: We're still trying to develop a hypothesis about his death; we don't think anyone in particular is more or less likely to have done it at this point.

Adams: Ok. Good. I just wanted to say that.

Eames: No problem. We understand that this can be nerve-wracking.

Goren: Can you tell us anything about Dr. Li's interactions with his students? Other professors?

Adams: Well, he treated his female students a lot like how he treated me - I know that.

Eames: How do you know that?

Adams: A few of them spoke to me about it.

Eames: Can you think of any of their names?

Adams: Jana Wu mentioned it to me once. Sara King didn't come to me, but I heard rumors that she was having trouble with him.

Goren: King and Wu. Eames, haven't we heard them mentioned before?

Eames: Dr. Jones had them in his list of students who didn't get along with Li.

Goren: Right, exactly. So it's not just you, Dr. Adams. So, did you hear any other . . . rumors about Dr. Li?

Adams: We're not a gossip mill. I didn't mean to make it sound like that.

Eames: We know. I'm sure Detective Goren didn't mean to imply that.

Goren: Right, I didn't. Sorry. How about this: can you tell us anything about how Li interacted with other students and teachers? Things you might have observed?

Adams: Ok, let me think for a second. Henry - Dr. Jones - got along with James ok. They weren't good friends, but Henry tolerated him better than most of us. Bhat and James collaborated a lot, so I think they were friendly.

Eames: 'Bhat' is Dr. Robi, right?

Adams: Right. Uh, Murphy pretty much hated him. That's Fred Murphy; he's retired now but he was chair before Henry took over. He thought James wasn't a good teacher.

Goren: Do you have any idea why he thought that?

Adams: This is a big research school. Have you ever heard the phrase "publish or perish"?

Eames: Yes

Goren: Uh-huh

Adams: Well, James published a lot. The problem was that he really only cared about doing research and publishing. He only taught because he had to, in order to get funding for his work.

Goren: So he was . . . unsympathetic?

Adams: Yeah. He wouldn't put in any extra effort to mentor students, or really even just help them. They were kind of . . . nuisances to him, getting in the way of his research time.

Goren: I can see how that could be a problem for his students.

Adams: I know that among the students he had a reputation for grading way too harshly.

Eames: What constitutes "too harshly"?

Adams: Well . . . students who got A's in other classes would struggle for B's in James's classes.

Eames: Ah. If I were a student, I'd be pissed to have that happen.

Adams: They were. But you have to understand, students come here kind of expecting that they'll be beaten down. No one advertises grad school as a feel-good experience. They may have been frustrated, but I have a hard time believing that he made life so hard that it would be worthwhile to kill him.

Goren: When it comes to competitive atmospheres, you never know. We've seen some highly improbable things in our work, and they're not as rare as you may think.

Eames: Can you think of anything else that might be useful for our investigation?

Adams: No . . .

Eames: That's fine. Here's my card; please don't hesitate to call if you think of any more details or have any questions.

Adams: Ok, thanks.

_End Interview_

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By the time Goren had finished typing both statements - each of which he emailed to Eames and Deakins - he'd used up what little of the morning they hadn't already spent conducting the interviews.

The two detectives had just started to eat their lunches when Deakins knocked on Eames's desk as he walked past. "Status report, guys. My office." Eying the lunches scattered over their desks, he added, "You can bring your food."

"A working lunch," Eames muttered. "Great." Resigned to their fate, they gathered up the newly-typed statements, their lunches, and Goren's portfolio and followed the Captain into his office.

"I've got copies of two statements in my inbox," Deakins said before they'd even had a chance to sit down. "Who, what, where, why?"

Eames decided to take pity on Goren, whose breakfast had consisted of a handful of grapes and a large black coffee, and let him eat for a few minutes while she spoke. "Ok, well, the first interview was with Henry Jones, the department chair. He claims to have been friendly, but not friends, with the vic."

"Was he able to provide any background on Li?"

Goren hastily swallowed his bite of ham and cheese. "James Li was pretty consistently disliked. The only exceptions we found were another professor he did research with, and a pet student."

"The professor's name is Bhat Robi," Eames interjected. "I have an appointment to speak to him this afternoon."

Goren nodded. "But other than those two, people seemed to universally think that he was arrogant, impatient, and hyper-competitive."

"Sounds like an all-around good guy," Deakins joked. "Did you get any other leads?"

"He made a habit of antagonizing women," Eames said, "including another professor - that's the Sandra Adams interview you have - and two grad students, Sara King and Jana Wu."

"Oh, that'll play well with the media," Deakins said sarcastically. Framing the headline in his hands as he spoke it, he intoned, " 'Feminists Knock off Chauvinist Academic. Details at 11.' At least _everyone_ will be pissed at us for that one."

"Maybe," Goren said. "_If _the women did it."

"You don't think they did?" asked Eames, starting to regret not having time to discuss the case with Goren before this meeting with the Captain.

"I think there are too many other viable suspects for us to . . . zero in on the women yet," he said. "I mean, we have the philosophical rival, Murphy. Maybe he was trying to . . . make the world a better place by removing Li. Then there's the colleague whose career he was holding back, Sandra Adams. Any one of the grad students could have had a bone to pick with him, maybe over something as simple as a test grade. It could even have been the 'friend,' Robi - he was most likely to consider Li 'direct competition.'"

Eames sighed. "We've got our work cut out for us."

Deakins gave them a smile. "Yeah, and that's why I put our best detectives on the case. Now, go get started. Keep me posted."

"Yes, sir," Eames said, snitching the last bite of Goren's sandwich as they stood. "C'mon, partner."

Goren, in retaliation, grabbed the apple that Eames had set aside from her lunch and took a bite. Giving her a knowing smile, he waved the apple triumphantly at Deakins and followed his partner out of the room, keeping the fruit out of Eames's reach.


	4. Policework in academia

The detectives split up when they entered the Language Building on the ESU campus. Eames turned left, heading for the spacious office of Bhat Robi; Goren took a right, toward a row of closet-sized offices, each of which was inhabited by a pair of grad students.

"Bhat Robi?" Eames asked, knocking lightly on the doorframe of the office that had a _B. Rabi_ nameplate next to it.

"Yes," an olive-skinned man said, swiveling in his chair to face her. "Can I help you?"

She stepped into the office and offered her hand. "Detective Alex Eames. I spoke to you on the phone this morning?"

As she spoke, she unobtrusively evaluated both the man and the office. Robi's space was roomy, with colorful, patterned textiles hanging on two walls and a large panel of windows in a third that overlooked an indoor courtyard. A bookcase held four shelves of books, most of which had intimidating titles like _Studies on Semantics in Generative Grammar _and _Government and Binding Theory_. She counted five books on the top shelf which listed 'B. Robi' as an author or editor. _Everyone likes to see their own name in print_, she reminded herself.

Robi himself was younger than she had expected; he appeared to be in his late 30s or early 40s. His black hair was slicked back with something - did academics use hairspray? - that made it improbably shiny, and he wore a pair of gray slacks (devoid of wrinkles, she noted) and a red-striped oxford shirt. She tried to picture her partner in a similar getup, but couldn't seem to get past the shiny hair without needing to fight laughter.

Eames was saved from the embarrassment of laughing in front of a potential suspect by the suspect himself, who leaned forward in his chair and took her hand. "Ah, Detective Eames," he said, holding the handshake a second too long. "I was expecting someone . . . older."

Trying not to roll her eyes, she told herself that she shouldn't be surprised; the man wasn't wearing a ring and, judging by his demeanor, he probably didn't get out much.

It only took her a second to tame her thoughts and plaster on her most charming smile. "Sorry," she said, shrugging one shoulder girlishly. "You're stuck with me."

"Hey," he said, holding up his hands in protest, "I'm not complaining. What can I -" He stopped and looked around the room. "Where are my manners? Here, have a seat," he said, dragging a hard-backed chair around to his side of the desk.

"Thanks." She sat, noting that the chair, which she figured usually held students, was one of the most uncomfortable ones she'd ever sat in.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, leaning back in his own soft-cushioned chair. "You're here to talk to me about James."

"Yes. We're trying to find out more about him from the people who knew him, and we heard that you got along with him. I was hoping you'd be able to help us out and tell us more about his life. Who he socialized with, what he enjoyed, his schedule . . .?"

"Well," Robi began, leaning back in his chair, "James was a brilliant man, and brilliant men aren't usually popular among their peers . . ."

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While Eames dealt with the unctuous professor, Goren was busy wrangling a roomful of opinionated students. He was initially pleased to find four of the five students whom he had been planning to talk to all gathered in one office, but he soon started regretting not having planned planned for an interview that involved frequent inter-student arguments.

"Dr. Li?" repeated a petite black-haired girl who was perched on a desk when Goren introduced himself and his purpose to them. "Sorry, but I really can't hold it against whoever killed him. He wasn't exactly a nice guy."

"Oh, come on," retorted a tall, Asian-featured boy, in a tone of voice that made it clear that this was an old argument. He turned in his chair to look at the girl sitting on his desk. "He was fine; you just didn't like him because he was a tough grader."

A second girl, this one lanky and blonde, made a disgusted face at the boy from her desk against the opposite wall. "Drew, you're literally the _only _one out of all the grads I know who could deal with the guy." Turning to face Goren, she continued, "Dr. Li was probably really smart, he had to be to be teaching here, but the problem was that he knew it. He couldn't stand being forced to deal with -" She shuddered theatrically. "- all us _useless _grad students."

Goren, who had been absorbed in watching the argument as it bounced from person to person, shook his head to clear it. "Hold on, guys. Before we go on, can I get your names?"

"Oh, sorry," said the Asian boy. "I'm Drew Kim. That's Jana Wu," he added, pointing to the shorter girl, "and Sara King," he said, gesturing to the blonde. "And the guy hiding in the corner is Alex."

"Alex what?"

"It's really Alejandro," the boy supplied, looking up from the sheet of paper he had been drawing something on. "Alejandro Torreira. That just takes too long to say, so everyone calls me Alex."

"Fair enough," Goren said with a nod. "My partner's name is Alexandra, and she tells people to call her Alex for the same reason."

"Your partner's female?" Sara King echoed. "That rocks."

Drew snorted. "The longer I share an office with you, the more I think you should just give up higher education and go take the Civil Service Exam."

Sara threw her pencil at him. "Stop with the elitist act."

"Guys," Alejandro interrupted. "Can we at least pretend to be human while a stranger's in here?"

"Sorry," mumbled Sara. "But he started it." Looking back to Goren, she sighed. "What did you want to ask us?"

"Well . . . you were all in one or more of Dr. Li's classes, right?" All four students nodded. "What can you tell me about his teaching style, his policies, his interactions within the department?"

His question was answered quickly by snorts from three of the room's occupants. "His teaching style was, uh, let's just say hands-off," said Jana. "He came in, gave the lecture, assigned homework, and left."

"And if you actually paid attention to the lecture, there wouldn't be anything wrong with his methods," said Drew.

"Drew, look," sighed Alejandro. "Some people have this strange thing where they like to feel like the teacher doesn't consider them to be on the same level as cockroaches. I did ok in Li's classes, but I still agree with Jana that as a teacher, he sucked."

"He was good at being sucky, though," Sara pointed out. "He never did it in a way that you could actually point to something and go, 'he did that wrong'."

"Can you give me an example?"

"Well, here," Sara said, holding out a graded assignment. "I got a D on this. Everything he marked wrong was technically wrong, but my overall answers were right, and I looked up some of the stuff - we're not even required to know them for this class."

Goren took the stapled-together pages from her and flipped through them, letting out a low whistle. James Li had apparently been a proponent of the "red pen" grading method; nearly every answer Sara had written had some comment scribbled over it in a nearly illegible red scrawl. "This is typical grading for him?"

All four students nodded. "He went easier on . . . some people," Alejandro said, subtly tilting his head toward Drew, "if they were willing to kiss his ass."

Drew, pointedly ignoring his classmate's jibe, looked past Goren to the doorway. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

Goren turned to see who the student was adressing and came face-to-face with his partner. "Done already?"

"He didn't have much to say about Dr. Li," Eames said. "Although he _did_ seem very interested in what I'm doing after work today."

"Let me guess," Jana spoke up. "You were talking to Dr. Robi."

Surprised, both detectives turned to look at her. "He does that a lot?" Eames asked.

Sara rolled her eyes. "He has a very definite 'type'. Short, thin . . ."

"Which is why he kept hitting on me, but left Sara alone," Jana finished.

"Dude," Alejandro said with a shake of his head. "No wonder I can't get a date; I'm competing with tenured professors."

"Oh, I'm sure it's not just that," Sara teased.

"Guys!" Drew exclaimed, waving his hands over his head to get their attention. "This is _not_ date night; can we please just tell the police what they need to know so I can get back to work?"

The other three students looked sheepish. "What else did you need to know?" Jana asked Goren.

"Actually . . . I think I've got just about everything I need for now. Uh, we'll probably need to speak with some of you again in the next few days; it would help if you could write down your contact information for us."

Mumbling "no problem" and "sure," the students each jotted down their office numbers and phone extensions.

Goren tucked the papers neatly into his portfolio and looked at Eames. "Ready?"

Eames opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off when Alejandro said, "Ohh, you're _Alex_!"

Eames blinked. "Uh, yes," she said, wondering why Goren, who almost never used her first name himself, had given it to the students. "And you are . . .?"

"Alex," he said with a grin. Catching the confusion in her face, he added, "Alejandro. I go by Alex because that's too long, and Detective Goren said you do the same thing."

"Ah," she said with a nod. "That's . . . interesting. It's nice to have met you, Alex - and the rest of you, too,' she added, smiling at the office's other occupants. Looking back to Goren, she smirked and said, "Come on, _Bobby_." If he could advertise her first name, then she could advertise his!

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Eames checked her watch as they got back into the car. Their trip to the school had taken longer than anticipated; it was close to quitting time. "Dinner?" she asked.

"What time is it?"

"Five."

"If you want to just go home . . ." Goren started tentatively. He knew his gung-ho attitude toward investigating was overwhelming to some people, and though Eames generally dealt well with him, he was constantly on his guard against assuming that she had the time or inclination for overtime.

Taking her eyes off the road for a moment, she gave him a curious look. "Why stop now? I don't have anything better lined up for tonight, and we need to trade information on our interviews."

"Well, if you don't have anything to do tonight," Goren said, "you could always . . . go out with that professor."

"Ha, ha," she said flatly. "Very funny. I'll hold off on dating suspects, thanks just the same. Which means that it's you that gets stuck with me."

"That's fine with me. So, where are we headed?"

"I'll buy the groceries if you'll come to my place and help me cook them."


	5. The dinner dance

A/N: Mmm, all sorts of angsty goodness in this chapter!

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Eames's apartment, smaller than Goren's, opened directly into a tiny kitchen cluttered with countertop appliances and boxes of cereal and crackers. "Sorry," she said over her shoulder as Goren followed her in. "I get lazy."

He offered her a small smile. "It's . . . easier than putting them away every time, right?"

"I say the same thing every time I bring you here, don't I?" she asked with an embarrassed shake of her head.

"It's part of your charm," he said reassuringly. "You unpack the groceries, I'll start cleaning up."

"You don't need to clean up after me, Bobby. You're the guest."

Ignoring her protests, he gathered up an armful of boxes off of the counter and started slipping them into her cabinets. "I'm not a guest."

"Ok, fine," she said, following him across the room. "You're not a guest, you're my partner. But you still don't need to clean my kitchen."

Giving her a gentle push toward the groceries she'd left on the kitchen table, he said, "It would be more efficient to start dinner while you fight with me."

"Yeah, yeah." With a sour look, she abandoned arguing and starting taking food out of the bags.

They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, Goren organizing and Eames beginning to stir-fry meat and vegetables, until Eames's cell phone rang. Without needing to be asked, Goren claimed the spatula and took charge of the stir-fry so she could answer the phone unencumbered.

Giving him a quick smile, she flipped open the phone. "Eames."

"Where the hell are you two?" demanded Deakins. "I haven't heard from you since lunch!"

Eames's eyes widened. "Sorry, Captain. We were at the college longer than we'd expected, and . . ."

"Are you still there?"

"Uh, no. We actually decided to call it a day, since we ran so late."

She could sense Deakins's surprise when he said only, "Oh."

She glanced at Goren, who was keeping their dinner from burning while watching her curiously. "Yeah, sorry we forgot to let you know."

"You're forgiven, but don't do it again. And you can tell Goren that, too, when you talk to him."

"We won't and I will, Captain. And we'll be in nice and early tomorrow morning to give you a status report."

"Good. I'll be expecting it. Enjoy your evening, Eames."

"Thanks, sir." She disconnected the phone and sighed, telling Goren, "He's pissed."

"I could tell," he said, holding out a strip of red pepper for her to sample. "Is this cooked enough?"

She took a bite of the pepper, chewing experimentally. "Mmm," she mumbled around the mouthful, "give it another minute."

"Ok." He turned back to the stove, asking over his shoulder, "He's mad we didn't call him?"

"Yeah. You know," she said, reaching past him to grab a serving spoon, "you're supposed to have the great mind. You should be in charge of remembering this stuff."

Goren snorted. "Without you to remind me, I have a hard enough time remembering that I even _have _a captain. And why didn't you tell him where we are?"

"Because he didn't need to know," she said, wondering why felt the need to ask.

Deciding that their dinner was as cooked as it was going to get, he turned off the burner and gave her an amused look. "If you say so."

She could tell that he was reading into her statement. The look on his face told her that he was probably inferring something that made her look silly. "What does that mean?" she asked defiantly, lifting her chin.

"Nothing," he said, raising both hands in surrender. "I'm just here to cook."

"Bobby," she said tightly, taking a step toward him.

Goren stood his ground, watching as she advanced the few feet from the opposite side of the kitchen. "What did I say?" he asked her, trying to suppress the smile that wanted to spread across his face. Alex could be a difficult, and dangerous, woman at times, but there was just something about the sight of her stalking him in her own kitchen, brandishing a giant spoon, that made it impossible to react with anything but laughter.

"You," she said, stopping less than an inch before she would have run into him, "can be really freaking annoying when you want to be."

He looked down at the top of her head, which was the only part of her he could see without leaning back to neutralize their height difference, and contemplated the situation he was in. He had been teasing her, since he knew that she had withheld the information from Deakins simply to avoid annoying questions, but he hadn't expected to actually anger her. He should be worried . . . but instead he was intrigued. She was nearly on top of him already, so what would she do if he didn't give in? Scale his leg?

"I'm not annoying; you're just wrong," he said, deciding that this was an interesting enough experiment that he wanted to play it out. Reaching behind him, he firmly planted both hands on the edge of the counter. If she tried to take him down, he needed to be prepared.

"What!" she squeaked, tipping her head back and going on tiptoe so she could - almost - glare right into his face.

Goren was even more interested now. Not only had he gotten her goat, but he had also gotten her to stand so close that he could have kissed her with hardly any effort.

Where had that thought come from? He closed his eyes for a second, reminding himself that this was _teasing_, not flirting, and then opened them again to find that she hadn't retreated and was still in his face. "Alex . . ."

"Oh, _now_ you call me Alex!" she ranted, inching herself a little taller and giving his chest a shove.

Deliberately being obtuse, he widened his eyes questioningly. "You don't want me to call you that?"

"You . . . you . . .!" Unable to get out a retort, she closed her mouth and tried to regroup. Then a thought struck her. "You're doing this on purpose!"

"_Me_?" he said with exaggerated innocence.

"You _are_! You are such a . . ." At a loss for words, she threw her hands up in frustration.

Goren grabbed her wrists as they flew past him and held them in front of his shoulders, slightly over her head. "Bastard?" he supplied politely. "Asshole?" He kept his hold on her, resisting her attempts to free herself.

"Both of those." She narrowed her eyes and gave him what she hoped was a threatening look. "Let me go."

"Are you going to hit me if I do?"

She sighed, relaxing a little for the first time since the argument started. "You know I won't. It's not a fair fight."

"It's not?" Who did she think had the advantage? If she tackled him right now, he'd be way too distracted to challenge her.

She tried to pull her arms out of his hands again, but failed. "No, it's not. You won't hit me, and it's not a fair fight if one of the fighters can't hit back."

"Of course I'm not going to hit you," he said, finally releasing her wrists. "I'd probably break you."

She rubbed at her left wrist where the flesh was reddened from his grip. "That wasn't my point."

"Look at this," he said, taking hold of her wrist much more gently and pushing it in front of her face. "I did that with one hand, without having any intention of hurting you."

"Oh, come _on_," she said, rolling her eyes but not trying to take her arm back. "Wrists have no cushioning, I could do the same thing to you."

He cocked his head to the side. "Want to try?"

"To hurt your wrists?"

"Yeah." He let go of her arm for the second time. "It will make me feel better," he coaxed when she didn't respond.

Alex took a step back as he held out his hands to her. "Are you serious?"

"Completely," he said with a nod. "Go ahead."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're weird?" she asked, resting her hands lightly under his to hold them still.

"Just about every day. Go ahead, Alex. I won't break either."

Confused but willing to play along, she did as he asked and wrapped her hands around his wrists. She couldn't circle them entirely, since her fingers were too short, but she could grasp more than enough of them to squeeze, which she did. "I don't particularly want to hurt you, either," she warned, holding his arms up between them.

"You're not," Goren said quietly. "I'm . . . sorry for teasing you." He winced slightly when her hands tightened in response to his apology.

"I don't know why I reacted so badly," she admitted. "But it doesn't help that you know exactly which of my buttons to push to piss me off."

He looked down at her, eyes softening slightly. "I don't try to get into your head, you know. You're not a criminal and I respect your desire for privacy."

"Enough," she declared, releasing his wrists. "I know you don't mean to, but you do it anyway, just from spending time with me."

This was getting dangerous. Goren put an escape strategy into action: "Eames . . ."

"Alex," she corrected. "You already said it once tonight, so I know you're capable of it."

"Ok, _Alex_ . . . I think our dinner's getting cold."

She stepped back, startled out of the spell that was holding them in their positions. "Oh."

Goren mentally kicked himself for spoiling such a pleasant interlude. "Sorry, I didn't mean to . . . startle you."

"Oh, no, you didn't. I had just forgotten about the stir . . ." She trailed off, knowing that Goren's immediate response to hearing that she forgot would be to wonder what had made her forget. "Get the plates," she finished instead. "Let's eat."

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"So," Eames said an hour later, flopping backwards onto the couch, "What'd you get from the students?"

Goren set their coffee on the side table and sat down more decorously. "I learned that grad students fight a lot."

"So what else is new?"

He smiled. "They didn't have much that we didn't already know. Li was a bad teacher, he tore apart their work . . ." He shrugged. "I got some impressions, but not much information."

"Well, what were your impressions?" she asked, sitting up and grabbing her notebook off the table.

He leaned back and propped his feet up on the coffee table. "Jana Wu doesn't talk much, but she's not reticent when she does speak. She seems fairly observant; she made no secret of having disliked Li. She also seemed to take Dr. Robi's advances in stride. I don't think she did it."

"She was the little one? Black hair?" Eames asked, jotting down notes as she went.

"Yes."

"Ok, go on."

"Sara King is . . . boisterous. Speaks her mind. Seems good natured, but defensive of her abilities. She bickered with Andrew Kim through most of the time I was there. I'm not writing her off yet."

"Andrew Kim . . . he was the one that Li liked, right?"

"Yes, and he seems to have liked Li, too. Defended him to the other three. In fact, he seemed to hold himself apart from them, and I couldn't tell if it was because of Li or if it was just his way. I'd be interested to see how he's been doing in his classes."

"How come?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Just a hunch. He seemed a little _too _put-together."

"As in 'holding it together by a thread'-type put together?"

"Maybe." He stretched his arm across the back of the couch, smiling at her. "You know, this is why I like working with you."

"What?" she said, blinking. "Because I have a smartass answer for everything?"

"No." He looked at her contemplatively. "Because _I_ don'thave to have the answer for everything. I make big logical leaps, but you're the one who cleans up my mess and makes it make sense."

Eames thought about that for a second, then grinned. "Why Bobby, I think you just gave me a compliment!"

A flush rose on his cheeks and he looked down at his hands. "It's true."

"I believe you. You just caught me by surprise."

"Sorry."

"It's ok. Keep talking."

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As Eames finished describing her interview with Bhat Robi, she saw a strange look pass over Goren's face. "What?"

He shook his head. "It's nothing. It's just that you . . . you don't seem to be bothered by his attitude toward you."

"Why should I be? After what I've had to do with people like Talbott, I've suffered much worse."

"Ok."

"Really," she added, noticing that he didn't seem convinced. "I worked years of Vice. Add that to how a lot of men seem to have a thing for short, skinny girls like me, and I'm almost surprised I don't get it more."

He cocked his head to the side and studied her face. "You think that's what people see you as? A 'short, skinny girl'?"

"Not exclusively, but it happens often enough that I'm aware of it."

"Well, _I _don't see you that way."

She smiled gently. "I know. You're the last person who would ever look at me like that."

He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that either. "Why would I be the _last _person?"

"Well, because you're my partner. You deal with me almost entirely on an intellectual level."

"That doesn't mean I don't still see you," he insisted.

"Why are you so hung up on this?" she asked, puzzled. "You've seen me deal with slime much worse than a horny professor."

"I just . . . don't think that you should assume that you know what others think about you. It can make you . . . bitter."

Dropping her pen onto the table, she leaned back against the arm of the couch and stared him in the face. "Why don't you tell me what the _real _problem is?"

"I don't . . ."

"_Bobby_."

"I don't have a problem," he said cautiously. "I was just . . . making a point."

Eames just crossed her arms and kept looking at him. "Look, it's late and we're both tired. I'd like to get some more work done before I go to bed, but we're not going to get anything done until you tell me what's going on. So talk."

Running a hand through his hair, he slouched against the opposite arm of the couch and frowned. "It strikes me that you're a little too complacent about this."

"What, you think I should kick the shit out of every guy who hits on me, instead?"

"That might not be a bad idea. This _is _New York."

"Oh, very funny. Now, what do you mean by 'complacent'?"

"Ok, look," he said with a sigh. "I'm just saying that you're a lot more than your body, and it feels odd to me that you're not bothered that it seems to be your main investigative tool."

That hadn't come out well, he realized when her eyes widened and she said furiously, "My _main investigative tool_?"

"Um . . ."

"Goren! I can't believe you just said that to me!"

Uh-oh, she had gone back to his last name. She was definitely unhappy with him. "I didn't mean that . . ."

"What you _meant_ was that you think I don't pull my weight around here."

"Uh!" he managed as his jaw dropped. "I didn't say anything like that, Alex."

"You didn't have to say it. I have a _brain_ to go along with my_ body_, remember? I could tell what you were implying."

"I don't . . ."

"No, enough," she interrupted him, standing up. "We're not going to get anything more done tonight. You should go." She stalked to where he'd hung his coat and jerked it off its hook.

"But I . . ."

She shoved the coat at him. "Here. I'll see you in the morning."

"Alex!"

Eames just gave him a weary look and shook her head as she pulled open the door. "Tomorrow."


	6. Cause of death

A/N: Thanks for the error check, Franta. I totally missed that! S'what happens when I write in fits and starts...

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Eames was at work before Goren the next morning - a somewhat unusual occurrence - and so she spent the spare time lecturing herself on the ills caused by getting too personal with one's partner: _Of course he's going to form an opinion of you based on what he sees, and if you ask, of course he's going to tell you_, she thought, resting her chin in her hand and trying to look like she was thinking about something work-related. _Just because your ego wants to hear that he thinks you're brilliant doesn't mean it's true. You know he'd never set out to harm you, so if he was telling the truth, why did you take offense so quickly last night? _

"Alex?" a voice said near her ear, shaking her out of her thoughts.

"Huh?" She turned to the source of the voice, expecting it to be her partner. Instead, she found herself staring at her Captain, who was looking back at her with concern.

"Are you ok? You haven't moved for close to ten minutes."

"Oh," she said, giving her head a shake as though to clear it, "I was just daydreaming."

"About Goren?"

"Excuse me?" she managed in a strangled voice.

Deakins's look changed from concern to teasing. "Well, since he's late and you're staring at the wall, it's a logical assumption . . ."

"I was _not _daydreaming about Goren," she said firmly. "Did you need me for something, or were you just checking up?"

"You owe me a status report," he reminded her. "But that can wait until Goren gets here. Actually, you just caught my attention when I happened to look at you."

"How did I catch your attention?" she asked, feeling off-balance. "I thought you said I wasn't moving."

"Exactly. Well, that and . . ." His voice trailed off. "On second thought, would you come talk to me in my office for a second, please?"

That was a definite danger signal, she thought as she nodded apprehensively. Wondering what she'd done to deserve a lecture, she followed him into his office and took a chair as he closed the door. "Is something wrong, sir?"

Deakins looked down at his desk for a moment, seeming to compose himself, and then returned his gaze to her face. "Did anything happen to you last night that I should know about?"

Alex gaped at him, a thousand different answers to that question running through her mind. Nine hundred ninety-nine of them were definitely _not _appropriate to share with her superior officer, so she settled for a simple, "No. Why?"

"I, uh, happened to notice your arms."

She looked down at her forearms and noted with alarm that there were distinct finger-shaped bruises around each of her wrists. Damn, as if her morning weren't going badly enough already! "They're nothing -" she began.

"They weren't there yesterday," he told her. "So someone put them on you last night. I want to know who."

"It's not what it looks like, Captain. Honestly." How the hell was she going to get out of this one? _Oh, no, Captain, I'm not being abused; I was just exploring the sexual tension between me and my partner. _Right, because Deakins wouldn't have a problem with _that_.

"Alex, you've dealt with enough domestic abuse to know that . . ."

"I'm not being abused!"

"Then how -" Deakins stopped abruptly, a look of chagrin spreading across his face.

Alex didn't need to hear him say it to know that he'd drawn the only other obvious conclusion: rough, maybe kinky, sex. She could feel her face turning red. "No, it's not that either!" she choked out. "I don't . . ." She cut herself off. This conversation could only get more embarrassing. She needed to escape, as quickly as possible.

Fortune had smiled on her, she decided when she looked up and saw Goren standing by their desks. "Thanks for your, uh, concern, sir. I'm fine. I need to go . . . talk to Goren. We'll give you a status in a few minutes!"

Without giving Deakins a chance to respond, she darted out of his office and skidded to a stop at her desk. "You," she said to her partner, who was staring at her curiously, "are in deep shit."

"I, uh, had already figured that out," he said. "Can we save the beating until lunch?"

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"We need to talk," Eames hissed as they left Deakins's office half an hour later.

"Can it wait?" asked Goren, looking down at the vibrating pager on his belt. "The Medical Examiner just beeped me. Autopsy report is ready."

Eames sighed, although she had to admit that she was somewhat relieved for the reprieve. "Yeah, it can wait. Let's go."

They made their way to the M.E.'s office in a tense silence, neither wanting to be the first one to mention the previous night. As they entered the building, Eames forced her expression into a look of pleasant politeness and approached the secretary. "You have a body for us?" she asked, showing her badge. "Li?"

"Oh, yes," the younger woman said, flipping through a pile of forms on her desk. "Table four. Jan's there waiting for you."

Eames knew that "Jan" was Dr. Janet Rapp, an M.E. they weren't well acquainted with. "Figures," she mumbled. "A weird, gruesome case, and our body gets a rookie."

"Be nice," Goren admonished as he held the morgue door for her. "You were a rookie once too, and they wouldn't have given her the case if she wasn't capable."

"Feeling magnanimous today, are we?" she said archly as she brushed past him.

"You could call it that." He looked around for the ME. "Dr. Rapp?"

"Over here," she responded, waving to them from across the room. "You guys are here for James Li?"

"Yep," Eames said as they took up positions on either side of the body. "What can you tell us?"

"Well, first off, someone _really _didn't like this guy. He's got two layers of injuries on him. The first is a set of contusions to the abdomen and the back of the head. Then, over those, we have the obvious stuff, these lacerations," she said, pointing to the now-clean cuts.

"How old are the bruises?" said Goren. "Same day? Same time?"

"I'd definitely go with 'same day,' although the time is more difficult. If I had to guess, I'd say they probably occurred within a few hours of the rest of the injuries, since the bruising wasn't full-depth - but I wouldn't testify to that in court."

"That's ok," Eames said, feeling her tension ease as she fell back into the comfortable pattern of working with her partner. "We're more interested in the cause of death right now."

"Ok, we can skip to that. What you've got," Rapp said, "is one very pissed, very smart perp. To get the technicalities out of the way, the COD here is exanguination and the manner is homicide. No surprises there, I suppose?"

"Yeah, we'd already worked those out," said Goren. "Can you tell us . . . how it was possible for him to bleed out?"

"You mean was he a hemophiliac or anything? Nah. In fact, he didn't have so much as a cold, let alone an autoimmune disease. That's partially based on my exam, by the way, but also on the medical records we got from his doctor."

"So it was induced?"

"Yup. You're going to like this one - look," the ME said, pulling back the body's top lip.

"His gums were bleeding, too? But I don't see any breaks in the skin," Eames said.

"Gums, gastrointestinal tract, conjunctiva . . . there weren't a whole lot of places the guy wasn't bleeding out of. Mostly the mucus membranes, but I found a small amount of intracranial bleeding, too. I suspect that that was a late starter and he had lost too much blood by that point anyway."

"So not only was he bleeding externally - which is what we saw at the scene," said Goren, "but he was hemorrhaging internally, also."

"He was dead either way," Eames said quietly. "So the cutting . . . that was solely to make a point."

"Or maybe just to make the guy hurt that much more," suggested Rapp. "It was probably excruciating for him, cut after cut on already-hypersensitive skin."

"Did you find evidence of a drug that caused the bleeding?" Goren prompted, trying to hide his impatience.

"You could say that," Rapp said with a grim smile. "He was massively overdosed with brodifacoum."

"Warfarin," Goren translated. "That's . . . an anticoagulant used for heart or embolism patients."

"Neither of which was a problem for our professor," Eames added.

"Well, you're not going to find brodifacoum in the blood of any heart patient I've ever heard of. It's a superwarfarin. Extremely potent and long-acting. Not something you want in you under just about any circumstances," Rapp said, shaking her head.

"Brodi . . ." Eames repeated to herself. "Wait, I've heard of that before. It's in rat poison, isn't it?"

"Very good, Detective. It is, indeed, mainly used to kill mice and rats. Does a good job of it, too."

"So it's not hard to get," Eames said, sensing that they had just lost a possible lead. "Anyone could have walked into a store and bought a box of D-Con or something."

Goren shook his head. "Anyone could have bought it, but whoever used it had this planned out. If they didn't know exactly what the physiological effects would be, they would have no reason to use it the way they did."

"Whoever they are, they did their homework," Rapp agreed.

"Were you able to establish a time of death?" asked Eames.

"Sure," Rapp answered, handing her a copy of her report. "He died between eight and twelve hours before he was brought in. Rigor was just approaching its peak."

"So that would place his time of death in the vicinity of eight the night before," Goren calculated.

"But," Rap went on, "there's a significant time lag between ingestion of warfarin and the start of bleeding."

"How significant?" Eames said.

"Twenty-four hours, give or take."

"Yeah, that's definitely significant."

"So what we should be interested in," Goren said thoughtfully, "is who he was with the night _before_ he died, as much as who he was with the night he _did _die."

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"There was a . . . datebook," Goren said as they got back in the car. "I saw it in his house."

"You think we took it as evidence?" Eames asked. "Should we go to the scene to check, or just back to One PP?"

"I remember setting it aside. Let's go back; Deakins is going to be on us about what the M.E. had, anyway."

"You got it." She shifted into Reverse and started backing out of the parking space.

They rode in silence for a few minutes, until they reached a red light and neither could pretend to be concentrating on the road any longer. "You . . . wanted to talk," he said hesitantly.

She kept her eyes glued to the red light in front of them. "Yeah."

"About what I said last night?"

Clearing her throat, she willed the light to turn green. "Partially."

Her reticence didn't go unnoticed. ""But I take it you've changed your mind now?"

"No."

"Come on, Alex," he demanded, giving her a weary look. "You've got to give me something to work with."

"Well ex_cuse _me for not wanting to listen to you tell me what you think of how I do my job."

This wasn't helping, he decided. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he noted that it was past eleven and made a quick decision. "Let's go out for lunch."

"Now?" Eames said, staring at him.

"Yes, now. It's only a little early. And, uh . . . the light's green."

"Shit." She accelerated through the light. "You just said Deakins is going to want to hear the autopsy results ASAP, and now you're suggesting we blow him off and take an early lunch?"

"Well," he said a little defensively, "I've changed my mind. Deakins took up our lunch hour yesterday; we're entitled to a long lunch today."

"Bobby, we're neck-deep in a big-name case. I can't believe that _you, _of all people, would want to waste time!"

"It's not . . . wasting time," he said. "I can't concentrate on an investigation when we're not working smoothly together, so it's either lunch or sitting at my desk being unproductive."

Finally, he'd said something that made sense to her. It didn't mean she _liked_ it, but at least she could understand what was going on on his head. "How nice; I've become one of your mental blocks."

She had no idea how close she'd come to the truth, Goren thought. Ever since he'd left her apartment the night before, he hadn't been able to rid himself of the corrosive fear that he had truly hurt her, that she would refuse to continue working with him. Struggling to come up with an honest, yet safe, answer, he said haltingly, "It's . . . hard to trust my deductions . . . about a case . . . when I don't seem to be capable of handling . . . my personal life."

" 'Your personal life'?" she echoed, raising her eyebrows.

"Uh, my relationship . . . with you," he rephrased weakly. "If I'm not smart enough to know how to not hurt my . . . friend . . . then how could I be smart enough to work a homicide?"

"Oh, bull," she growled, turning into the One Police Plaza parking lot. "You've never doubted your intelligence in your life, except _maybe _with Nicole Wallace. Don't try to act like a fight with me has strained your intellect."

"Well, it has," he shot back, losing patience. "I told you last night how important you are to my ability to do my job."

Eames slammed the car into Park, grinding the gears, and jerked the key out of the ignition. "It always comes back to work, doesn't it. You need to be able to do your _job _again, and how distressing it must be for you to have me interfering!"

"Alex!" Goren cried as she slammed out of the car.

"What?" she said tiredly, leaning back against the car she had just exited.

Climbing out and shutting his door much more gently, he circled around to her side of the vehicle and stood a few feet in front of her, studying her face. She looked . . . exhausted. "Did you sleep last night?" he asked abruptly.

"Does it matter?"

"I'd like to know."

She sighed. "Ok, if you insist - not really. I got about twenty minutes of sleep, total."

"Come on," he said, taking her arm. "Please let me buy you some lunch?"

"I didn't sleep, so you're going to feed me?"

He detected a welcome hint of her usual sense of humor. "Well, I can't put you to bed in the middle of the day. Food is the best I can do. Please?"

Still leaning against the car, she covered her face with her hands and took a deep breath. "I'm a disaster right now. Trust me, you don't want to spend any more time with me than you have to."

Goren gently forced her hands away from her face. Keeping just enough pressure on them to keep her from raising them again, he insisted, "I'm the reason you're a, uh, 'disaster' today in the first place. I need to explain . . . some things. To you."

"Bobby . . ."

"It's either lunch now or I'm following you home tonight."

"Oh, fine. Just remember that you've been warned."

His face broke into a boyish grin. "Good. Come on," he said, using his grip on her hands to pull her away from the car.

"We're walking?"

"Yeah. It's good for you."


	7. Lunch hour

"Ok," Eames said, setting her Wendy's bag down on the stone-topped table they had stopped in front of. "I let you buy me lunch, I let you talk me into sitting out here in the park so we can stare at City Hall as we eat . . . now tell me what's going on."

"Sit," Goren insisted, waving her to the bench adjoining the table. "We have plenty of time to discuss that afterwe eat."

"You're kidding me. You practically frog-marched me down here to talk to me, and now you're saying there's 'plenty of time'?"

He reached into the bag and pulled out her salad and fork, setting them in front of her. "At least eat while we talk."

Giving him an exasperated look, she pulled the lid off of the salad and obeyed. "Happy?"

Unwrapping his own hamburger, he nodded. "Yes."

"Good. Now talk."

He blinked, surprised by her swift acquiescence. Buying time to think, he took a big bite of his burger and chewed as slowly as possible.

Eames, not fooled, leaned back in her seat and kicked him under the table. "You've got one minute to start talking or I'm going back to work."

Dropping his food back onto the table, he sighed. "I need to apologize to you."

"Okay . . ."

"What I, uh . . . what I said last night . . . it didn't come out the way I meant it to."

Her face tightened slightly. "Oh? And how was it supposed to come out?"

He shook his head dismissively. "It was stupid of me to say anything. It wasn't - isn't - an important topic."

"You can't get away with that now, Bobby. You said it, so now you need to explain it."

Damn. He had been hoping she'd allow him to let it drop. He should have known better - what investigator worth her salt would be willing to forget about what he said without demanding an explanation? "What I meant to . . . that is, what I was trying to express . . ." He paused, trying to think of the optimal phrasing. "I wasn't trying to imply that I thought you were . . . less than capable."

Eames quirked a brow and simply waited.

"What I was trying to say was that I was surprised that it doesn't annoy you that you don't get to exercise your brain in interviews like the one you had with Robi," he said all in one breath.

"I 'don't get to'?" she questioned. "How so?"

"You don't . . . need to. It's like me trying to, uh, do a weekday crossword in the Times - it looks impressive, but it bugs me to know that the puzzle wasn't enough to really challenge my abilities."

"You're saying you think I'm capable of more than just flirting with suspects? Why does that sound absolutely _nothing _like what you said last night? You said my body was my 'main investigative tool' then."

"I phrased it badly."

"I'll say," she said with an ironic laugh. "I'm having a little trouble reconciling the two."

"Well, you don't need to reconcile them. Overwrite the one from last night with the one from today."

"What am I, a computer?" she said, pushing away her salad. "Suddenly I feel like lettuce might corrode my circuits."

"That's not fair, Eames."

"Oh, and messing with my head _is_?"

"I'm not messing with your head! I'm tryingto _un-mess_ it!"

Instead of screaming a retort back at him, Alex closed her mouth and just looked at him. Her lips worked for a few seconds and her eyes narrowed. He was preparing for a truly awesome blast when, to his shock, she burst out laughing.

"What?" Goren blurted, wondering what the hell had just happened. She just shook her head and continued to laugh, and after a few seconds he tried again: "_What_?"

"You . . . you . . ." she stuttered. "You're trying to _un-mess _me?" she managed before going off into a fresh gale of laughter.

"Not you," he corrected, at a loss for any other response. "Your head."

She was finally starting to regain control of herself, although she was still fighting the smile that remained on her face. "Ah, I don't know how I could possibly have gotten those confused. Thanks for setting me straight."

"What's so funny about me trying to fix what I did wrong?"

Stifling another giggle, she reached across the table and covered his hand with her own, saying with mock-seriousness, "You know, Bobby . . . sometimes you really do worry me."

"Why?" He was getting tired of spouting questions, but she'd thrown him so off-balance with her laughing fit that he was still floundering. "I thought this was what normal people did - converse and try to explain things to each other."

"Anyone ever tell you that you're cute when you're confused?" she said casually, retrieving her fork and taking another bite of her salad.

"Er . . . no." He paused, thinking about that for a second. "I'm cute?"

"Well," she said with a teasing smile, "when you're confused. Too bad it doesn't happen that often."

"I really am sorry for what I said last night," he said into the silence that followed her remark. He wasn't changing the subject because he didn't like being complimented by her; it was more that he liked it a little too much, and therefore feared saying anything in response. Who knew what could come out of Bobby Goren's mouth if he didn't take the time to think before speaking?

"Apology accepted," Alex said after only a moment's hesitation at the subject change. "It was dumb of me to go off on you, anyway, since I know you have no reason to say something deliberately hurtful."

"Well you're right, I wouldn't, but . . . that wasn't what I was saying. Your reaction was valid."

She studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "You're right, it was." Setting her fork into the plastic salad bowl and replacing the cover, she smiled brightly. "Ready to go back to the real world?"

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"So, what do we know?" Deakins asked as the detectives entered his office, not even waiting until they were seated. "Got the autopsy results?"

"Yes," said Eames, handing him a copy. "The short version is: the cuts were secondary; he was bleeding internally from an overdose of . . . warfarin," she said, pronouncing the last word carefully. She glanced at Goren, expecting him to pick up and explain the drug. When he didn't, she shrugged and went on. "Warfarin is a blood thinner. Some preparations are used in medicine for heart patients, but the type this guy ingested is the 'super' type that's used in rat poison."

"Rat poison," Deakins repeated contemplatively. "Just plain old off-the-shelf rat poison?"

"Disappointing, isn't it," agreed Eames.

"Just as notable," Goren broke in, "is the fact that there's a . . . delay between the time the drug is ingested and the time the symptoms - mainly hemorrhaging - become patent."

"A full twenty-four hours," Eames appended.

Deakins whistled. "A whole day, huh. You guys got any information on who he was with the night he would have taken this, uh, warfarin stuff?"

"We think he had a . . . date book," Goren replied. "It would have come in with the rest of the scene evidence."

"However, we haven't taken a look at it yet," Eames added. "Since we spent the morning communing with dead bodies and all."

"Your favorite pastime, I assume," Deakins said with a laughing look.

"No," Goren said conversationally, "I think there are other things she prefers."

Eames and Deakins exchanged a look, both unsure whether Goren was serious. "I'm . . . sure there are," Deakins said reassuringly. "So, uh . . . you guys let me know what you find in that date book, ok?"

"You bet," Eames said as she led Goren out of the room.

"Oh, Goren?" Deakins called at the last second, gesturing for the detective to come back into his office.

Goren glanced over his shoulder at Eames, who simply shrugged, and returned to stand in front of the Captain's desk. He looked inquiringly at Deakins.

"Have you talked to Alex this morning? Other than about the case, I mean."

He blinked, sorting through the possibilities of what Deakins was fishing for. Had he found out about their argument? "A, uh . . . a bit," he hedged. "Why?"

"Did she mention what she did last night?"

"No, what did she do?" He was genuinely curious; had Eames done something unusual after he left?

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"Pardon?"

Deakins held up a hand as if warding off the question. "I'm not going to say anything more. Just . . . take a close look at her when you go back out there, ok?"

Intrigued now, Goren nodded. "Sure."

"Good," Deakins said with a firm nod. "Thank you."

"No problem," Goren mumbled as he left the office.

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"What was that about?" Eames asked, looking up when Goren approached their desks.

"Um," he faltered, "just, uh, nothing that important."

Since her blow-up last night, she'd been trying to restrain the defensiveness Goren tended to spark in her, and she silently reminded herself of this goal as she said only, "Oh, ok" in response to his obvious lie.

"Yeah," he said nervously. Sitting down at his desk, he looked down at the nearest sheet of printed paper, pretending to read as he surreptitiously scrutinized his partner. Starting with the top of her head, he began a methodical scan, averting his eyes each time she looked up. The examination was difficult, since he had no idea what Deakins had been alluding to and therefore no idea what it was that he was looking for.

Her hair and face looked just the same as they always did, he decided, even if her expression was a little more brittle than usual. Her neck was similarly unchanged. _And delicate_, his subconscious added a second later. Her shoulders were feminine - no, they were simply _undamaged, _he corrected himself - and held in their usual straight posture.

"What?" Eames said suddenly, breaking his concentration.

His eyes flew to her face and he saw that she was eyeing him strangely. "Huh?"

"You're staring at me."

"Uh . . . no, I wasn't staring at you. I was just kind of staring into space while I thought."

Eames didn't look convinced, but she accepted his explanation. "Ok."

Letting out a quiet breath of relief, he kept his eyes focused on his desk for a few seconds until he was sure that she'd gone back to her work, then resumed his study. Where was he? Ah, yes . . . her shoulders. Her shoulders looked normal. Did skin above the v-neck of her shirt look just the slightest bit flushed? He couldn't be sure, but stored it away as a possible observation as he moved on.

His eyes trailed down her torso, although he doubted that either he or Deakins would be able to spot anything unusual through the barrier of her clothing. When he'd noticed nothing different by the time he reached her waist, he moved his gaze to the only other part of her he could see above the desk: her right arm. Her three-quarter length sleeve covered most of it, and he didn't see any bumps or bulges that shouldn't have been there.

Finally, his eyes moved to her forearm and, a second later, widened. A perfect imprint of his fingers adorned her wrist. Shocked, he drew in a sharp breath.

Eames's head snapped up and she this time she caught him red-handed. "You're staring at me again."

"I, uh . . ."

"Yes?" she said expectantly. "Spit it out."

"Your . . . uh . . . your arm is . . ."

She looked down and, making the obvious deduction, groaned. "Is _that _what he kept you in there for? To ask about these?"

Her words took a second to penetrate Goren's brain as he processed and analyzed what he was seeing. That he'd left marks on her was bad, but she obviously wasn't in pain from them or he would have noticed already. That Deakins had noticed the bruises was much worse. "Did he mention them to you?" he finally asked as he pulled his eyes away.

"Yeah. He wanted to know who beat me up," she said with an wry smile.

Horrified, he closed his eyes for a moment and tried to calm himself. "What did you tell him?"

Before replying, Eames looked around, making sure no one else was within earshot. "I told him that no one was abusing me, thank-you-very-much . . ."

Goren let out a sigh of relief, but she shook her head, saying, "Don't relax just yet. It gets better."

"Uh-oh."

"So I told him that no one was abusing me, and he looked back at my arms, and . . . well, take a guess what the other likely scenario he came up with is."

It took him only a second to make the connection. "Oh my god, did he ask if you . . .?"

Amazingly, she smiled as she shook her head. "Not out loud, but my _god_ you should have seen his face!"

He stared at her, stunned by her lighthearted reaction. "You're not . . . upset?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm embarrassed as hell and I'd very much like to kick you somewhere vital for putting me in this situation, but as long as I can convince Deakins that he doesn't have to hunt down some cop-beating maniac, then it's more embarrassing than it is damaging."

"So you didn't tell him it was my fault?"

"No, why would I? It's not like you did it on purpose."

"Well, true, but -"

He was interrupted by another detective's shout of "Hey, Eames!" from across the room. "Evidence sent up your appointment book. You want it?"

"Don't worry about it," she whispered to Goren, then turned to face the shouter. "Yeah, we need it. Could you bring it over?"


	8. Square one

A/N: The next few chapters are a total descent into melodrama. Sorry, I couldn't fight it!

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"Thanks," Eames said as the detective dropped Dr. Li's date book on her desk. "I thought these things went out of style when Palms were invented."

"Some people . . . have a hard time adjusting as adults. Younger people are more malleable."

"Malleable," she mimicked, opening the book. "Those students didn't look too flexible to me. Ok, here we go . . . February of '06. He died on the . . . 16th?"

"Yeah."

She flipped through the pages until she found the page for the day before Li's death. "A lot of illegible scrawl," she sighed in defeat.

Goren craned his neck to see what Eames was looking at. "Red pen, his favorite."

"Oh yeah?" she said, looking up at him.

"Sara King showed me one of her graded papers. Coveredin red."

"Poor girl," she said, shaking her head sympathetically. "I _still _get the urge to cry when I see red pen, and I've been out of school for more years than I want to count."

"And all the writing on her paper," he said, pointing to the page they were reading, "was just as contorted as this stuff."

"I was just going to ask about that." She slid the book across to him. "Can you decipher any of it?"

Leaning closer, Goren studied it for a few seconds. "The eight a.m. slot says something about . . . 'secretary' . . . maybe 'meet with secretary'?" Tracing the writing with one finger, he said slowly, "See, this here could be a pointy 'm,' and the next two letters look the same."

"Eight is too early for him to have taken the drug, though," she pointed out. "He'd have been dead well before midnight the next day."

"True." He scanned the rest of the page, mumbling the occasional word to himself. "Here, look at this," he said after a few seconds, pointing to something written near the 7 p.m. slot. "Capital 'R' . . . 'w'," he began to read, ". . . slash . . . 'ldk' . . . semicolon . . . 'c' . . . and the number two"

"Rwldkctwo?" Eames shook her head as she tried to pronounce it as a word. "No way. Either you're reading it wrong or it's a seriously obscure abbreviation."

"Here, you try." He passed her the book and watched as she squinted at the handwriting.

"I'm seeing something like 'Rulnkc:z'."

"Which . . ."

"Doesn't make sense either, I know." Dropping the book back onto her desk, she tipped her head back and sighed. "It's really hard to crack a code when you can't even read the encoded- What?" she asked as Goren stiffened.

"You gave me an idea. We need someone to analyze the handwriting before we can analyze what it says, right? Well, doesn't the department has a graphologist on retainer?"

"Uh . . ." She flipped through the rolodex they shared. "Here we go, under 'H' for 'handwriting.' A John Simmons, address in SoHo," she read. "How trendy."

"Let's give him a call," he said, holding out his hand for the address card. "Maybe he has enough experience with messy writing to translate it."

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"Hoo, boy," John Simmons whistled later that day. "This is about as bad as I've ever seen it. The guy a doctor?"

"College professor," Eames corrected.

"Ah, the group with the second-worst handwriting. Of course." He eyed the transparency he'd made of the date book page for a moment, then laid it on the projector humming in front of him. "This was fun, thanks for calling me."

"So you were able to transcribe it?" Eames asked.

"Of course, Detective, uh . . ." He trailed off, waiting for Eames to supply her name.

"Detective Eames. But call me Alex," she said, offering him a smile.

Goren blinked, taken aback. _Call me Alex _was not usually something that came out of her mouth when she was talking to a professional associate other than him. His interest piqued, and feeling vaguely jealous, he studied Simmons through narrowed eyes.

John Simmons, an insurance investigator when he wasn't assisting the NYPD, was a few inches shorter than he was, which would have put him at about six feet tall - small compared to Goren, but still much taller than Eames. His hair was dark brown, with hardly a hint of silver showing. Goren touched his own graying hair reflexively, reminding himself that it was genetic. Besides, Simmons appeared to be quite a few years younger than him, which gave him an automatic advantage when it came to signs of aging.

"Goren?" she said from beside him, staring at him curiously. "You alive up there?"

"Huh?"

"The screen's this way," she said, reaching up and gently turned his head to the right. "You won't learn much from staring at the projector."

"Sorry," he said, nervously loosening his tie. "Just . . . thinking." Was Alex standing a bit closer to Simmons than she had been a minute ago?

"Ok," Simmons said, pointing back to the projected page. "As I was saying, the first character is fairly easy to interpret: a capital 'r.' After that, things get mushy. The guesses you guys gave me had a 'w' and a 'u' in this next position, but if you'll notice," he said, using a pen to point to the letter in question, "there are one . . . two . . . three dips of the pen. Too many for a 'u' or a 'w.' I'm pretty sure what it actually is is a double 'w'."

"Is that a new letter I haven't heard of?" Eames said, raising her eyebrows.

"I'm sure your English capabilities are more than adequate, Alex," Simmons said with a teasing smile. "It's not a letter. It's actually two letters, run-together. Two 'w's."

"So the first three letters are 'Rww'?" said Goren.

"Yes. And the next character is, indeed, a slash."

"What's the rest?" prompted Eames.

Tracing each letter as he went, Simmons dictated, "R-w-w-slash-l-d-k-c-two."

"Rww/ldk:c2," Goren repeated, jotting it down on a notepad. "Still completely opaque."

"Agreed," Eames said with a nod.

Simmons shrugged. "Hey, the decoding is your job. I just read the writing. I do wish you luck, though."

"Thanks," she said with a self-effacing smile. "We can use all the help we can get."

"Oh, I doubt that," he replied, shaking each of their hands as they left his office. "Give me a call if you have any more handwriting work."

"Uh, yeah," Goren said with a distracted nod, putting his hand on the small of his partner's back and propelling her out the door.

Alex let him push her through the door, then pulled away. "Do you mind?"

"Sorry," he said with a shrug. "It looked like you'd have been happy to stay there all day if I didn't get you moving."

"What do you mean by that?" she said, striding ahead of him and unlocking the car.

"Nothing."

"Bobby," she said, giving him a baleful look, "are you _trying _to get me to punch you?"

He blinked. "Uh . . . no?"

"Then _why_, for the love of god, are you - only a few hours after denying any such opinion, mind you - insinuating that I'm spending the investigation flirting my way through the men of New York?" She jerked open the car door and slid into the driver's seat. "Don't sulk. Get in."

"I'm not sulking," he protested. "I'm trying to figure out what I said that makes you think that."

"You're being ridiculous," she said with a sigh. "But I'm sick of fighting about it. So fine, I'm a flake who's only on Major Case so I can get dates with criminals. That make you feel better?"

"No."

Tired of being angry, she purposely tamped down her emotions and tried to keep her statements on the logical level that Goren functioned so well on. "Ok, look," she said quietly, sounding only a little strained, "we obviously have a problem here. As far as I can tell, that problem has two possible causes: first, your opinion of my skills is genuinely that low, in which case logic would dictate that we shouldn't be partnered anymore."

"Wait, Alex, I . . ."

"_Or_," she pressed on, "you have some kind of personal problem with me that you can't keep under wraps. If that's the case, unless we can work it out, it's also not a good idea for us to be partners. We have to be able to trust each other, remember?"

"I trust you."

"Yeah, well, right now I can't trust you."

Stunned into silence, Goren sat back in his seat. He had never considered that _she _might feel she couldn't trust _him_. He was well aware of his many social faults, but he'd never thought untrustworthiness was one of them.

"You going to say anything?" Alex prompted after a few minutes of heavy silence.

"I . . . don't know."

"You don't _know_?" she ground out, momentarily forgetting about conquering her emotions. "Bobby, that's not an acceptable answer."

"What do you want from me?" he asked as she swung the car into their parking lot. "I don't know what to say."

"You could try telling me which the cause is."

"I don't have a cause. I don't think you're a flake. I don't have anything that needs to be worked out."

"Goren," she said unwaveringly. "This has been going on for days, and it's not getting better. If you're not willing - or not able - to talk to me about it, then as much as I don't want to, I'm going to have to resolve it by myself."

"What do you mean by . . . 'resolve'?" he asked. "That sounds ominous."

"It's not. It's just truthful." She looked at him for another second, waiting, and then let out the breath she'd been holding. "That's what I figured. I'll see you upstairs."

By the time Goren had processed that, she was gone.

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Alex managed to retain her self-control until she got into the only one-stalled ladies room in the building, but only barely. The trembling started just as she locked the door behind her; the struggle to hold back tears began only seconds later.

She stared down at her shaking hands, disgusted with herself. She'd made such a good show of confidence in the car; why was her mind suddenly vapor-locked now? She knew she'd made the right decision. What she'd told Bobby was true - if they couldn't trust each other, it literally wasn't safe to be partners.

But what was she going to do now? Was she going to go knock on Deakins's door? Walk in there and tell him that she was giving up, couldn't deal with the squad's most brilliant detective any longer? Deakins would want to know why, and any way she phrased it, it was Bobby who would come out looking bad. She would be seen as having done the best job she could in an impossible situation, and he would be blamed for driving away yet another partner.

Wait, why was she worrying about him? She should be concerned with getting herself out of this situation with a minimum of damage, professional and personal. To hell with Bobby Goren and his not-so-subtle jibes about her work ethic. She needed to be concerned with Alexandra Eames, because right now she felt . . . insubstantial.

Hell, she was really, truly hurt by her partner's behavior. Bobby didn't play games with her. He had no reason to dig at her, to try to make her look like a useless cop. And yet . . . that's what his actions had told her that he thought over the past few days.

Was she unfit for police work? Did she do her job as well as she could have? Was there something more, some technique, some attitude, that good cops had that she'd missed?

"Alex!"

She stiffened at the sound of someone banging on the door. How had he hunted her down so quickly? She sure as hell wasn't coming out of the bathroom and facing him as she was now, shaky and teary-eyed. "I'm fine!" she called back after taking a few deep breaths.

"Come out of there," he replied with another knock.

"Please just leave me alone for a few minutes, ok? I . . . don't feel well."

Goren switched to rattling the doorknob. "What's wrong? You're sick? Unlock the door!"

"I'm fine. Just . . . go _away_!" Her breath hitched on the last word and she shut her mouth, taking slow breaths through her nose and trying to suppress the spasmodic breathing the tears were causing.

"Alex, I'm not leaving. I'm sitting down outside this door until you either come out or let me in."

Torn between aggravation and embarrassment, she didn't respond. Sitting down on the floor, she just cradled her head in her hands and kept trying to control her gasping breaths.

"I can pick this lock if I need to," Goren reminded her through the door.

"Don't," she said dully. Arguing with him about it was pointless; if he wanted to get in badly enough, there was nothing she could do to stop him.

"Tell me what's wrong and I won't," he wheedled. "Alex, come on."

He wanted to know _what was wrong_? she thought, holding back a bitter laugh. Of course he didn't know what was wrong; that was the reason she'd ended up here in the first place! "Nothing's wrong," she finally replied.

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care if you believe me."

"Well, _I _care."

She couldn't hold back the laugh now. "It's a little late for that. Bobby, I'm trying to be professional about this. Please go away so I can keep it that way."

Defeated, Goren lowered his hand from the knob and turned away. "Ok, I'm going. Please come out soon." He walked away as slowly as possible, straining to hear the click of the door lock as she emerged, but by the time he reached the stairs, there had been no sound.


	9. Interference

"Hey, Goren," Detective Mike Logan said, looking up as Goren walked by his desk, "I took a call for you." Looking down at the message slip, he read, "A Dr. Henry Jones called. Said to tell you that . . . what the hell?" he broke off as the other man strode by him and kept going, not even slowing down. "I'll have it for you when you regain consciousness," he called sarcastically after Goren.

Logan watched as Goren made his way through the maze of desks, managing to avoid saying a word to any of the many people who spoke to him as he went. _Wonder what his problem is today_, Logan thought to himself. _Brain screwed in too tight?_

He looked back down at his desk and realized with surprise that he had jack to do for the time being. Propping his feet on his desk, he settled down to watch the eccentric genius have a meltdown.

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"You guys got anything on that . . ." Deakins said half an hour later as he walked toward Goren's desk. "Hey, where's Eames?"

Goren, who had been staring at his hands for the past ten minutes, looked up and coughed uneasily. "She's, uh, not feeling well."

"Did she go home? Why didn't she tell me?" Deakins responded. "Have you been overworking her?" he added jokingly.

"No," Goren said without a hint of answering humor. "She didn't go home, and I haven't been overworking her. I'm sure she's fine."

The captain eyed him dubiously. "You're 'sure'? You don't know?"

"I can't exactly go into the ladies room to check on her," Goren said bitingly, "now, can I?"

"Is that where she is? Should I send one of the women to see if she's ok?"

"No."

"Okay," Deakins said, pulling out Eames's desk chair and settling into it. "Something weird is going on here. Tell me."

"Nothing's going on. She just . . ."

Across the room, Logan strained to hear what Goren was telling the Captain. Eames was sick? No, she was fine. No, she wasn't feeling well. _What the hell is going on with those two_? he wondered. _They usually know exactly what each other is thinking, and now he doesn't know if she's sick or not?_

". . . locked in the bathroom upstairs," he overheard Goren say. "She asked us not to bother her."

_Nuts to that_, thought Logan. Eames didn't know him well enough to include him in the ban, and it looked like this could get interesting. Goren wasn't showing any signs of moving, Deakins seemed engrossed in whatever tale Goren was spinning, and the rather attractive Alexandra Eames was . . . locked in the bathroom?

Hmm. He glanced around him, making sure no one was paying attention, and made a quick exit from the room.

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A soft knock on the bathroom door startled Eames a few minutes later. Taking a deep breath, she managed a steady, "What?"

"Eames?" said a male voice she didn't recognize.

"What?" she said again.

"It's Mike Logan. Are you ok?"

She sighed. "Did Goren send you up here?"

Logan smiled to himself, intrigued. There was definitely something wrong between the partners. "Actually, no. He doesn't have any idea I'm up here. Are you ok?"

"I'm fine. You can go back to work."

Using his most innocent, unassuming voice, Logan said, "May I come in? I know you don't know me too well, but I'm still a little freaked out knowing that there's an upset person alone in there."

"Mike, please. I'm fine."

"Ok, look," he said, "I'm concerned about you, but also, I took a call about your case, and Goren wouldn't listen to me when I tried to give him the message . . . I thought maybe I could fill you in instead."

There was a minute of silence, and then the soft click of the door unlocking. "You're devious," Eames told him, stepping back just far enough to allow him in and immediately locking the door behind him.

"Well it worked, didn't it? And it's true, I swear." He looked closely at her, taking in her slightly shaky limbs, blotchy face, and wet eyelashes. "You're a mess."

"Thanks," she said with a tense laugh. "You're a real charmer. What was the message?"

He watched her return to her seat on the floor and, ignoring his nice clean suit, leaned back against the wall, barely missing impaling himself on the hand dryer mounted on the tiles. "You know a Henry Jones?"

"Yeah." She sniffled a little, then nodded. "He was our victim's boss. He called?"

"Yep." Trying not to look like he had noticed the tears she was obviously fighting, he fished a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her.

"A handkerchief?' she said with amusement, looking down at it. "Guys still carry these?"

"Hey," he said with a shrug, "I'm old-fashioned."

"I didn't say it was a bad thing." She accepted the cloth, bunching it in her fist and trying to look like she was just rubbing at her itchy eyes when she raised it to them. "What did Dr. Jones say?"

"He said he's got the records you guys asked for. Something about grades?"

She nodded. "Yeah, we asked him to pull the grades of five of the victim's advisees."

"Ok, well, he said he said he was faxing them. They're probably here by now, but they weren't on the machine and I didn't want to search Goren's desk for them."

She snorted, giving him an dry smile. "Good idea. He gets a little territorial."

"Hey, at least I got ya smiling. You want to tell me what's going on with you?"

She cocked her head to the side, studying him. "Why do you want to know?"

"Pure curiosity," he said, splaying his hands helplessly. "I can't resist it."

Sighing, Eames shook her head. "Look, I'm sure you're a really nice guy, but this is just . . . a personal problem. I don't want it getting around the squad."

"Do I look like a rat?" he said, trying to look hurt.

She smiled and shook her head. "Nah. But that doesn't mean I want to tell you my innermost secrets."

"Hey, if you say so." He paused, looked at her. "But I'm still not a rat. Come on, tell me!" he coaxed playfully. "It'll just be between you and me, I swear. It won't leave the room. I'm not one to tell tales about problems on the job, trust me."

"Hmm, I forgot about that. You almost got the boot, didn't you?"

"You have no idea how close I came. My captain would have literally ripped me a new one if I'd held still long enough. So see, now you know my secret."

"And so now I'm supposed to tell you mine?"

"Well," he said, "turnabout is fair play . . ."

"No way." She tried to sound firm, but it came out sounding more like she was playing coy.

"Ok, whatever you feel comfortable with. But . . . did I mention that Goren's closeted with Deakins right now? I wouldn't go down there alone if I were you."

"You're kidding me," she said, closing her eyes in anticipatory embarrassment. "Are they talking about how to handle the hysterical female in their midst?"

"That, I don't know. I sit behind a pole, remember? I'm lucky I can even see who's in the room."

"Poor Mike," she said, patting him on the shoulder. "How you must suffer."

Becoming more interested in what Eames had to talk about, he slid down to the floor to sit across from her. "So we can suffer together. You know what's wrong with me, now how about returning the favor?"

Eames, rather than refusing again, said carefully, "If I told you about a . . . hypothetical situation, would you give me your honest opinion?"

_Score!_ Logan thought. "Shoot," he told her.

"Ok well, let's say there were two . . . people . . . who had worked well together for a few years. They spent a lot of time together on the job and they got along and did their work well." She paused, taking a deep breath.

"Ok," he said, waiting for her to go on.

"And then things kind of get weird between them, but not for any obvious reason. Suddenly one of them is just . . . on edge. Picking fights, insulting the other person. Acting like they don't think the other person can do the job anymore."

He was beginning to get the idea. "And the person who's being insulted . . . doesn't know what to do?"

She nodded. "They start to wonder if their partner really believes what they're saying. And then one day, the partner does it again and the person can't stand it anymore. They tell the partner that unless the problem can be worked out, it isn't smart to stay together."

"Because trust is too important to police work to not have it."

"Exactly."

"Tough," he said with a nod. "What did the, uh, partner say to that?"

"Nothing. They just acted like they had no idea anything was wrong."

"What did the . . ." he started.

"Alex!" Deakins's voice interrupted him as a knock sounded on the door. "Are you in there?"

Both people inside the bathroom jumped. Eames, eyes wide, hissed to Logan, "He _told _him?"

"I don't know," Logan whispered back. "But answer him, before he breaks in the door or something."

"I'm fine, Captain," she managed.

"What's going on in there?"

She stared at Logan, hoping for inspiration, but he merely shrugged. "I'm not feeling well," she called. "I'm sorry you had to come up here. I'll be out in a little while."

"You've been in there more than an hour. If you're really feeling that sick, I'm calling an ambulance."

"No!" she gasped. "I'm . . . ok. Really."

"So which is it?" he asked, sounding exasperated. "You're sick, or you're fine?"

"I'm . . . fine."

"Then either you come out or I'm coming in. I got the key from maintenance. You don't have to tell me what's wrong, you can even go home early if you need to, but I need to see that you're ok."

"Captain . . ."

"Alexandra," Deakins replied sternly.

She looked at Logan, whose eyebrows were raised as he mouthed, _Alexandra?_

"He never calls me that unless he's ready to kill me," she whispered. Raising her voice to normal levels, she said, "Ok, I'll come out. I'll meet you downstairs in a few minutes, ok?"

"No dice. If I walk away from here, you'll just keep yourself locked in. Out, Alex."

"I think we're stuck," Logan said quietly. "Probably better to cut your losses."

"Shit," she mumbled, reluctantly standing up. "Stay in here until I'm gone, ok? The last thing I need is more questions."

Logan grinned. "No problem. Shoo," he said, waving her away as he stood up. "It's not every day I get to explore a ladies room, anyway."

"Thank you." She wiped at her eyes once more, then carefully unlocked the door. "I'm coming out, Captain."

Deakins took a step back to avoid being hit by the opening door. and waited. As Eames slowly emerged, he studied her. Her face was red and her clothes were slightly rumpled, but she didn't appear to be in pain or bleeding. "Come on," he said, holding out an arm to her. "You can tell me about it on the way downstairs," he added as he led her toward the stairs.

"I'd rather not discuss it."

"Well you need to . . . Here, give me that," he said, pulling the handkerchief away from her. "Since when do you carry a handkerchief?"

"Uh . . ."

Deakins looked down at the cloth, noting the initials _M.L. _He barely held back a groan. Mike Logan? Why did Eames have his handkerchief? The last thing Deakins needed was yet another wrinkle in this situation, and that was what the involvement of the roguish detective would lead to. "Never mind," he said quickly, handing the cloth back to her. "Doesn't matter."

Eames let out a quiet breath. "Thanks."

"Now, please tell me what's got you so upset. No names or details required, if it makes you feel better."

She sighed. "I'm just . . . having personal issues."

"Personal issues that make you lock yourself in the bathroom at work? Bull," he said with a shake of his head. "You're more professional than that." Glancing quickly at her, he added, "Goren's freaking out downstairs. It's not like either of you."

"He'll be fine."

"Will you?" he shot back. "If you two are on the outs, I need to know."

"It's . . . complicated," she said quietly. "Give me another day to work things out in my head, ok?"

"Yeah." Deakins pushed open the door to the 11th floor, then paused, keeping it open while he stopped and looked closely at her. "Go home, Alex. Take care of yourself. I can wait until tomorrow morning to hear about whatever it is - but if you're not ready by then, you're going to talk whether you like it or not."

"Thank you, Captain."

He gave her a small smile. "If you weren't so good, I wouldn't be cutting you this slack. You need anything from the squad room?"

She shook her head. "I'm good."

"Ok, I'll see you in the morning, then. Call me if you have any problems tonight, alright?"

"Yeah. Thanks, sir." Offering him a weak smile, she turned and continued down the stairs as Deakins headed back to his office.

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Goren looked up when he caught sight of Deakins passing by from the direction of the elevators. "Did you go upstairs?" he said accusingly. "I told you she asked to be left alone."

"Couldn't very well leave her in there all afternoon without checking on her. Besides, she didn't seem too upset."

"She talked to you?" he asked, sitting up straight. "What, uh . . . what did she say?"

"Not much," Deakins assured him. "Just that she wasn't feeling well and didn't want to talk about it." _And she didn't deny it when I asked if this is your fault_, he added silently. "She seemed pretty much ok."

"Maybe she's calmer now," he said, shoving back his chair and standing up. "I should go talk to her."

"That," Deakins said cautiously, "is probably not the best idea. I got the impression that she wanted to be left alone."

"She'll talk to me," Goren said, sounding more confident than he felt. "She was just . . ."

"_Besides_," Deakins said loudly, speaking over Goren, "I sent her home."

"You sent her . . . excuse me?"

"I told her to go home. She needed some time to unwind."

"You sent her home," Goren repeated darkly. "Without telling me?"

"I'm telling you now."

"And she just . . . went? Didn't come back in here to find me? And what's that?" he asked, catching sight of the handkerchief in Deakins's hand.

"You're her partner, Bobby," Deakins reminded him as he hastily shoved the handkerchief into his pocket, "not her boss. Let it be."

"But I . . ." Goren's voice trailed off as Deakins just shook his head and continued on to his office. He sank back into his chair and lowered his head to his chest.

A few seconds later, he lost his tenuous grip on his self control. "Shit!" he growled, slamming his fist onto the desk.

Logan, who had only just dared to return to the squad room, stopped when he heard the resulting crash and stared at the Goren, who was now rubbing his hand with a grimace. "Whoa, Goren, what's got you wound so tight? I thought your case was going well."

"It was," Goren grunted without looking up. "It is."

"Then why are you trying to kill your desk?"

"Not your business," Goren said brusquely. "Go away."

"Hey, Mike!" Deakins called from the doorway of his office. "Can I have a word with you?"

"Sure, Captain." He glanced back at Goren and admonished, "Give the thing a break; it's not even real wood," then turned and walked toward where Deakins stood.

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"What's up?" asked Logan, slipping into one of the chairs in front of Deakins's desk.

Deakins fished the now-rumpled handkerchief out of his pocket. "This yours?" he asked, sliding it across the desk.

"Uh . . ." Why had Eames given away the handkerchief, and how had it been connected to Logan?

"Your initials," the captain said, answering the unspoken question. "Your mom still stitch them for you?"

"Very funny." He shrugged, knowing he was cornered. "And yes, it's mine. Can I ask where you found it?"

"Found it?" Deakins chuckled. "I 'found it' in Eames's hand when I talked her out of the bathroom."

"Oh."

"Should I ask how your handkerchief got into her hand?" he said cautiously. "I'm not totally sure I want to know."

"I, uh, noticed that she was upset and offered it to her. That's all."

"Goren said she wasn't crying when she left him in the car. Why would you offer it to her if she wasn't crying?" he pushed.

"I'm sorry, Captain," Logan said, standing up. "That's all I have to say about it. You can ask Eames if you have to know more."

Deakins grunted an assent and watched Logan make his way back to his desk. It probably wasn't the right reaction, but he was rather pleased that Logan wasn't willing to tattle on another detective. Even if it did leave Deakins with what felt like the beginning of an ulcer. The shenanigans going on on his squad would drive him batty one of these days!


	10. A step in the right direction

A/N: Sorry this chapter is, like, triple-length. I wanted to get the whole scene out in one shot so I can move on in the next chapter (casefile? huh? what's that?). I know this chap is over-the-top, especially toward the end...I think I read too many romance novels for my own good ;)

A/N 2: Thank you so much to everyone who's been reviewing (Franta, Evenstar83, gerfan, Sara Sanders...you guys know who you are). I'm such a dork, I leave my monitor turned on at night after I post a chapter, hoping to see that review alert" email pop up so I can jump up and read it, and you never let me down!

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Alex didn't let herself relax until she was in her apartment with the door locked behind her. Heaving a sigh, she sank down on the couch and dropped her head into her hands. Her apartment was safe, and therefore she was safe in it . . . but for how long? Only until morning, at best. With her luck, someone would come knocking on her door at midnight wanting to discuss things and then she wouldn't even have tonight to herself.

She needed to forget about Bobby for the night. That meant getting out of her work clothes and into her favorite flannel bathrobe, with frayed elbows and a stretched-out waist tie, so she headed for her bedroom to retrieve it.

Cinching the robe around her waist a few minutes later, she decided that she felt a little better - the robe was like being enveloped in a warm hug - but still too wound-up to be able to think clearly.

She'd have loved to skip town. To not have to face Goren, Deakins, or Logan in the morning. To find some other city, some place where her new partner would be . . . maybe like Lenny Briscoe had been. Sarcastic, easy to work with, and too old to see her as a female. Even someone like Mike Logan would be ok - he could be difficult, but he didn't seem to be afraid of speaking his mind.

But Goren . . .! Too locked into his own mind to care about what his actions did to anyone else. Too confident to be easily handled. Entirely too young to not be seen as attractive . . .

No! That was the last thing she needed to dwell on.

She groaned and headed for the kitchen. She knew she had a bottle of cabernet stashed away in a cabinet somewhere. Now she just had to find it.

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The wine revealed itself fairly quickly, and half an hour later a glass was balanced on the bathroom counter as she indulged in a warm bath. She'd even broken out one of the fizzy bath balls her sister had given her for Christmas last year. At the time, she'd joked about setting them aside for some romantic night when someone joined her in the bath, and the irony wasn't lost on her that tonight couldn't have been farther from what she'd said back then.

"As if my love life wasn't depressing enough already," she muttered to herself, sinking down in the tub until the water was just below her nose. _And I'm sitting here with alcohol and a smelly, chalky ball as my only comforts, _she thought. _Way to go, Alex_.

Reluctant to get out of the warm water, she'd just finished washing her hair for the second time when she heard a quiet thumping sound coming from outside the bathroom. She couldn't identify it offhand, but as depressed as she was, she was still trained to be suspicious. Grumbling mildly, she stepped out of the water and donned her robe, then grabbed her half-full wine glass and went to investigate.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," she groaned when she realized that the sound was someone knocking on the apartment door. "I don't need this."

"Whatever it is," she said, eager to get rid of whoever it was as she pulled open the door, "I don't want an- Oh."

The sight of Goren, still dressed for work, standing in her doorway set her heart pounding, She wasn't sure if it was from anger, panic, or excitement, but whatever it was, she didn't like it. "Go away," she said, putting down her wine glass and moving to shut the door.

He stiff-armed it, forcing the door to a stop halfway. "Hear me out."

"No!" She put all her body weight into pushing the door. "I asked you to leave me alone. Can't you even do that?"

He blinked, holding the door open with little conscious effort. "Uh, well . . . no. I need to explain things, Alex."

"I gave you a chance to do that this morning. If you hadn't noticed, it accomplished less than nothing."

"It'll be different this time," he said quickly.

"And I should believe that . . . why?"

"Because," he said, slowly forcing the door back toward her as he inched into the apartment, "we still have to work together. It has to be different."

"I've given you every chance, Bobby," she said, keeping her weight against the door but no longer bothering to fight him over it. "Now I'm cutting my losses."

"What the hell does that mean?" he asked, his voice getting louder.

"It means I'm going to do a lot of thinking tonight, and that I'm no longer interested in what you have to say."

He wedged a foot in the door, dropped his arms, and stared at her. "You really want to . . . Damn it, you can't!"

"It's my partnership too, and yes, I can. And I am. You don't have a say in this."

"Alex!"

"Leave, Bobby."

"No." Catching her by surprise, he hit the door, pushing it and her back against the wall. "You're going to listen to me. If you still want me gone when I'm done talking, I'll go."

Slipping out from behind the door, she stood in his path, arms crossed. "Go. Away."

"No," he repeated. "I'm giving you three more seconds to let me in, or . . ."

"Or what?" she challenged.

"Or I'm coming in anyway." Before she could react, he reached out, put his hands under her arms, and simply lifted her out of his way.

"Obviously I'm not going to be able to forcibly evict you," she said, glaring at him from her new position a few feet farther back. Picking up her wine glass and walking farther into the room, she added, "So talk fast."

"Did I, uh, interrupt something?" he asked, abruptly noticing her bedraggled appearance now that she wasn't hiding behind the door.

"Yeah," she sighed. "You interrupted my attempt to relax and stop worrying about work."

"You were . . . taking a bath?" he guessed, trying not to think about the implications that might have on her state of dress - or undress. Had she gotten out of the tub and thrown on that robe over . . . nothing?

"You know me so well," she replied, and though the words sounded complimentary, her tone made it clear that it wasn't a compliment. "Are you going to just keep hedging now that you forced your way in here, or are you going to say whatever it is that's so important that it couldn't wait until morning?" She took a sip of wine, almost emptying the glass.

"Uh . . ." He turned away from her, clasping his hands behind his back, and started pacing the length of her living room. "I'll say it. I want to apologize for today."

"Bobby," she interrupted, "we've already done this onc-"

"Don't interrupt," he rebuked. "As I was saying, I want to apologize for today. For _all _of today. Even lunch."

"My salad wasn't _that_ bad," she said in an attempt at levity.

He glanced up at her, then returned his eyes to the floor he was pacing. Not acknowledging her comment, he went on: "I haven't been . . . honest with you. About a lot of things."

Alex rolled her eyes and downed her last sip of wine. Did he think she didn't already know that?

"I've been having, um, thoughts. Lately. About us . . . you."

Suddenly nervous at the turn his quasi-apology had taken, she took a step back and looked at him warily. "What kind of 'thoughts'?"

"I have a, uh, protective instinct when it comes to some people. My mother is one. You're another."

"What do I need to be protected from? I carry a gun, for god's sake!"

He shook his head. "Not that kind of protection. I mean that . . . well, maybe 'protective' isn't the best word for it. I don't know what to call it."

"Insane?" she suggested. "Chauvinistic? Controlling?"

"No! None of those." He paused. "Well, maybe the insane, a little bit. But that's beside the point."

"What, exactly, is the point?"

Unclasping his hands and turning them palms-up in a helpless gesture, he said, "I don't . . . know how to explain this. Bear with me, ok?"

"I'm about out of forbearance, sorry."

He shouldn't expect her to make this easy on him, he reminded himself. He'd royally screwed up their relationship, largely with stumbling explanations like the one he was attempting to give now. "We've worked together for . . . years."

"Yes."

"And I know we don't really socialize together or anything . . ."

"Ok . . ."

"But just by virtue of working with you so long, I view you as . . . more than a coworker."

"More?" she echoed with raised eyebrows. "Like, say, a possession? Or a weak woman needing to be protected?"

"No! Damn it Alex, let me get this out!"

She inched back another step. "Sorry."

"I'm . . . sorry," he said, observing her retreat. "I'm trying not to shout, but I guess I'm not doing too well at it."

"I swear to god, Goren, if you don't tell me what the hell you're talking about within the next five seconds, I'm kicking you out of here if I have to _throw_ you out. I'll figure out a pulley system or something."

Judging by the look on her face, he didn't doubt that she would do as threatened. What was the essence of what he was trying to tell her? He wasn't sure. He was even hedging in his own mind; how could he present a logical argument out loud?

She was looking at him dangerously, he noticed. He was running out of time, so he blurted out the first semi-logical thing that came to mind: "I don't like seeing other men coming on to you."

To his amazement, she reacted with a complete lack of surprise. "Uh, I was aware of that. You told me the other night, remember? When you were telling me how I'm only capable of flirting, not investigating? And what, exactly, do you mean by '_other _men'?"

"That's the problem."

"Uh . . . _what's_ the problem?"

"The 'other men' part."

She gave him an aggravated look and sat down on the arm of the couch. "It might help if you used complete sentences. You know, a subject, a verb, _and _an object?"

"I . . ." His mouth worked for a few seconds as he searched his mind for a way out and found none. " 'Other men'," he finally managed, "as in . . . men other than me."

Her head jerked up at that and her eyes locked on his. "Excuse me?"

It was Goren's turn to back up a step as he reacted to the cold look in her eyes. "I'm not saying . . . that is, I don't want . . . I . . ."

"Let me be sure I have this right," she said silkily. "You don't like seeing the men I talk to hit on me . . . because you're the only one who's allowed to hit on me? I've got news for you, buddy - if the past few days have been your idea of 'hitting,' then it's no wonder you can't get a date."

"Well, no," he said evasively. "I, uh, wouldn't exactly say that that was what I meant."

She gave him a bored look and motioned for him to go on as she disappeared into the kitchen.

"I don't know how to explain this without it sounding insulting - which I don't mean it to be."

"Try," she said as she refilled her wine glass. "It'll take me at least a minute to figure out how to boot you out, anyway."

"The men who I see coming on to you are sleazebags. They're not good enough for you."

"You're not my father. 'Good enough' is not something you need to be concerned about."

"But I . . ."

"But you what?" she prompted, returning to her position by the couch, this time with full glass in hand.

"I'm . . ." He stopped, shaking his head. "Alex, tell me what I need to do to fix this. How do I have to act for you to be able to work with me again?"

She gave him an incredulous look. "That's it? You're going to just . . . stop there?"

"Huh?"

"You just tried to totally skip over answering my question. 'I'm' does not constitute a complete answer."

"I . . ." he said, looking down at his feet. "You probably don't want to hear the rest."

Holding up her glass of wine, she said, "I'm half-drunk and starting to feel a little more human. This is about as good an opportunity as you're going to get to say it."

When Goren didn't answer after a few seconds, she put down her wine and stood up, walking closer to him. "I've got news for you, Goren: I don't want to stop working with you either. You're a good partner, you're smart, and I like you. But if you're not going to throw me a bone and help get us through this, then you're tying my hands."

She was too close to him now, his brain screamed. Alex sitting across the room had been safe; Alex standing less than two feet away and looking up into his face was definitely _not _safe. He fidgeted, trying to inch backwards without her noticing.

She noticed. She was just opening her mouth to call him on it when the sound of her phone playing _Bolero _interrupted her. Giving him a dirty look as she grabbed the phone off a side table, she told him, "Don't move," then flipped the phone open.

"Hello?"

"Alex?"

She couldn't quite place the voice. "Yes, who's this?"

"Logan. Uh, hi."

"Mi-" she began, then cut herself off as she noticed Goren's eyes on her. "Hi. Did you, uh, need something?"

"I wanted to make sure you were ok. Well, and also tell you that I think Deakins thinks we've got something going on."

"He _what_? Why the hell does he think that?" She almost groaned; she should have known that anything semi-good that happened to her today would also end up cursed.

"You gave him my handkerchief. It had my initials on it."

"Oh my god," she said, thinking about having to deal with Deakins in the morning. Suddenly, the idea of her captain believing she was being being fought over by two antisocial detectives, neither of whom was actually interested in her, was just too ironic, and she couldn't help but react to the absurdity: she started snickering.

"Uh, Eames?" Goren said from behind her. "You ok?"

"Just . . . fine," she assured him, trying to stifle her laughter.

"Alex? You there?" asked Logan on the phone.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"You got someone there with you? Am I interrupting?" He sounded amused, she noticed.

"Yeah . . ." she said slowly, eyeing Goren's suspicious face. "The, uh, person I was talking about earlier."

"No kidding?" Logan said, suddenly sounding a lot more animated. "Is he trying to win you back?"

"You could say that."

"Is he succeeding?"

"No, not as yet," she said formally, trying to make it sound to Goren like she was carrying on an impersonal conversation.

"He's watching you, isn't he?" Logan said. She could hear him trying to muffle a laugh as he pictured the scene.

"Yes," she said stiffly. "So, can I help you with anything else?"

He grinned, glad that Eames couldn't see the amusement on his face. "No, ma'am, I was just calling to check on you. You have my number if you should happen to need someone forcibly removed from your apartment in the next few hours."

It was too close to what she'd already been imagining doing to Goren. She smirked. "I'll keep that in mind; I just might call you."

"Good girl. I'll see you in the morning. Oh, and Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"Make him beg for it."

She giggled. "I will. See you tomorrow."

She was still smiling when she turned off the phone and turned back to Goren, but the look on his face erased her mirth quickly. "What?" she said carefully.

"Who was that?"

"Just a friend."

"A friend named Mike?"

Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed when she realized that he had blatantly eavesdropped. "Yes, as a matter of fact. Why?"

"Mike Logan?"

"Do you care?"

"Yes," he said hotly, crossing his arms. "When did you get so friendly with him?"

"None of your business," she retorted. "Now, are you going to keep trying to convince me that you don't have a problem with my life outside of work, like you were before I answered the phone? Or are you going to leave?"

"You know he's only on the squad because Deakins took pity on him," he went on, ignoring her. "He screwed his career ten years ago."

"So what? He's a nice guy."

"He's a dirty cop. You don't hang out with people like that."

"How would _you _know? You don't hang out with me on my time off, either. And he's not dirty. He's just got a bad temper - to which I might add that you're not exactly all sweetness and light lately, either."

"I am _nothing _like him!"

She snorted. "No kidding. He's got interpersonal skills."

Stung by the truth of her statement, he drew back a little. "You knew I wasn't good with people when you started working with me."

"I could handle it back then. When we started out, you treated me as an equal, even if you weren't the most tactful guy I knew. Now . . . you're different."

"I still see you as an equal," he insisted.

_Hey_, she thought, _maybe I've finally goaded him into talking!_ "You don't treat me like it. You treat me like an assistant who has to be constantly monitored."

"That's not true!" he shouted, losing control of his temper for the second time that night.

"It is true!" she shouted right back into his face, stepping closer. "I won't work with someone who thinks of me as more female than cop, Bobby. It's not fair to me."

"I can't . . .!" He dragged a hand down his face. "I can't help it," he said weakly. "I notice you."

" 'Noticing' me is fine. I don't know many men in the department who haven't made a comment about it at one time or another. But most of them manage to get the hell over it!"

"Is that what Logan did?"

"Logan doesn't have any bearing on this. But for your information, yes, it is. He treats me like a person, not a body."

"Then why don't you just go work with him," Goren said bitterly.

Whatever buzz the wine had given her was long-gone now and the reality of her situation was beginning to sink in. Turning her back on him, she returned to the couch and sat down, head in her hands. "Why can't we do this?"

"Do what?" he asked, restraining himself from following her across the room.

"Be like we used to be. I don't understand what I did to make you stop trusting me."

"I trust you more than almost anyone I know," he insisted.

"Then what? What changed? Why are you acting different?" She shook her head. "Bobby, you have to tell me, now, or I'm washing my hands of this. I can't deal with it anymore. I have enough problems in my life without you being one of them."

Leaning his head back against the wall, he closed his eyes. "It's not something you did. It's something _I _did. Unconsciously." He opened his eyes to find her watching him expressionlessly. "I let myself break one of the cardinal rules," he added, abandoning restraint and crossing the room to stand in front of her.

"What cardinal rules?" she asked, confused.

"The ones that dictate how partners should interact."

She shrugged. "I could have told you that. I know I've reminded you before that partners have to be able to trust each other."

"That's not the rule I'm talking about."

"Ok," she sighed, "then what's the rule you're talking about?"

Bending over slightly to look her in the eye, he gripped her upper arms and pulled her to a standing position, not removing his hands even when she was cooperated and stood. "It's one of the rules people don't talk about," he said slowly, rubbing her arms lightly.

His gentle touch felt nice, she thought. Too nice. She could happily relax into it and spend the night savoring the feeling, but the rational part of her brain reminded her that things would only be that much worse in the morning. Still . . . his hands were warm. "What, uh, rule?" she managed to get out as she fought against herself.

Emboldened by her lack of resistance, he slid his arms around to her back, wrapping her in a hug and holding her close enough that she couldn't easily see his face. "It's the one where you're . . ." He closed his eyes, half of his mind screaming for him to spit it out and the other half howling that things would be made worse, not better, if he told her. "The one where, uh, you're not supposed to get emotionally involved with your partner," he fumbled.

Alex, who had been about to throw caution to the wind and rest her head on his shoulder, instantly stiffened and tried to pull away. Goren let her go with no resistance, even backing up a step himself. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, turning his face away from her. "I know it's . . . not what you want. And it's not an excuse for how I've been acting."

"Wait. Explain this to me," Alex ordered, avoiding letting herself read into his statement for the time being. "What's the connection between 'emotionally involved' and 'you're a flake who can't do your job'?"

"I don't . . . I never said that you can't do your job."

"Then why the condescension?"

He'd taken it this far, he thought. He might as well finish burning the bridge as quickly as he could. "It's not condescension. It's a manifestation of . . . jealousy."

She blinked and, staring at him, open-mouthed, sank down on the couch again. "You're saying that . . . I . . . you . . ."

"Like I said," he told her, backing away another step, "I don't expect anything from you. This is my problem, not yours. I just . . . Give me a chance to fix things, please."

"But I . . ." Alex was at a loss for words, a million thoughts and images flooding her brain. It explained so much . . . his attitude problem lately, his usual conscious effort to defer to her at work . . . those little touches of his hand on her back and arm that happened every so often. A picture of his face in relaxed moments, eyes soft and smile intimate, rose in her mind. She was willing to do almost anything to see that look, she realized.

She had no idea what to say. If she was honest, his attraction to her wasn't entirely unwelcome. She'd contributed her share of "accidental" touches and cozy moments to their partnership. It would be hypocritical to hold the same things against him. And yet . . . how was she supposed to respond? Was he waiting for her to accept or reject his feelings? She couldn't do either in her current state. She needed to get back on firm ground, to a place where she could feel in control again. She thought for a moment . . .

"Ok," Alex said briskly, raising her head and looking at him. "We can deal with this. I need to understand what to do to avoid the jealousy thing. Once we've got that licked, we'll be able to function like normal."

Goren gaped at her. That was all she had to say? He'd just revealed one of his most humiliating secrets, and all she cared about was how it could be circumvented? "That's . . . it?"

"Yes," she said shortly, wishing to hell that he hadn't chosen today to be the one day he'd talk about himself.

Dazed, he just stood and kept staring.

"What?" she snapped. "I'm accepting your apology; don't look at me like I just kicked a puppy!"

He shook his head blankly. "I, uh . . . Thank you for the forgiveness but you . . . you're not going to say anything else about what I just said?"

She had been trying to avoid this. Why did he have to be so pigheaded? "What do you want me to do? Fall at your feet? Kick you out? I really don't feel like doing either of those."

"Don't you even have . . . an opinion?"

"Don't push me, Bobby. You're getting on my last nerve."

"I . . ." He took a deep breath, steeling himself for her reaction to what he was about to say. "I need a response. It doesn't have to be . . . verbose . . . but I need to know whether you're ok with this or not." _I need to know whether I should be too embarrassed to look at you in the morning_, he mentally added.

"I kind of have to be ok with it," she dodged, "given that my choices seem to be either accept it or find a new partner."

Bobby's patience broke and he leaned forward, grabbed her arm, and pulled her off the couch toward him. "This isn't a game, Alex. Don't act like we can just push this to the back of our minds, because we can't - doing that is what made me such an asshole in the first place."

"Let go," she said, prying at his fingers, which he allowed her to remove. "I'm not saying it's a game. I'm saying that I don't have a response prepared to give you."

"No response," he repeated skeptically. "None at all?"

She shook her head. "None."

"You're just going to leave it at that? And when I get to work in the morning things will be back to normal?"

"Well, I-"

"That's what I thought. You _know _you need to respond to this," he growled. "Because now that it's out, I can't go back to normal until I know."

"I don't have anything to say," she said stubbornly.

"Ok," Bobby said softly. "Ok, fine. You don't have anything to say . . ." He was going to get an answer from her tonight one way or the other, and it looked like it was going to have to be "the other." Letting his hands rest lightly on her shoulders, he gave her a second to get used to his touch.

Then, in one smooth movement performed too quickly for her to escape, he spun her around until her back was to the wall and pinned her against it.

"Bobby," Alex gasped. Her surprise froze her for just a second too long, because by the time it occurred to her to push back, his face was in front of hers, less than an inch away.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, taking in her wide eyes. "You know that."

"B-"

"Shh," he cut her off, laying a finger over her lips. "I tried to give you the easy way out, but you wouldn't cooperate. Now we do it my way."

She should have been afraid, and a small part in the back of her mind, she was. Goren was more than a foot taller and probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds, and given those facts, logic dictated that she should fear him hurting her, even accidentally.

The Bobby Goren she knew so well, though, didn't have accidents. She'd been with him long enough to know that, like most large men, he kept his strength in far better check than any average-sized man. Logic said that she should be panicking right now . . . but what she was actually feeling was a thrill of anticipation.

"I-" she began, raising her eyes to his.

"Don't talk," he ordered in a whisper an instant before pressing his lips to hers.

Her senses were overloaded, and it took only seconds for her knees to begin to buckle as she drank in every detail of his kiss.

Moving reflexively, Bobby moved his hands from her face to her sides and steadied her. "No falling," he mumbled into her mouth. "You're staying up here with me."

Alex's only response was a gasping sigh as his hands encountered the narrow strip of skin exposed by her robe.

"Alex," he breathed, pulling his lips just far enough away to speak clearly. "_This _is your answer." He kissed her again. "Things have changed."

Her arms wound around his neck, holding his head down to hers. "God," she said on a shudder. "I don't . . ." She sucked in a breath at his touch when his hands gently cupped her face. "This . . ." She paused, trying to remember what she had been about to say. Whatever it was, she decided, it couldn't have been as important as memorizing the moment unfolding around her.

"This," he picked up, staring into her eyes and letting one finger trace over her lips. "is going to get me killed in the morning." He allowed himself one more kiss, this one hard and fast, then pulled away from her, keeping one hand on her arm until he was sure she wouldn't fall. "I should go."

"You . . . killed . . . what?" she stuttered, wondering what she'd done wrong to make him withdraw so abruptly.

"You sound like me," he said, jokingly touching the tip of her nose with one finger. "My Eames doesn't stutter."

"Yours?" she repeated, starting to get her bearings.

He looked guiltily at her. "And _that _is why I need to get out of here - before I scare the hell out of you."

"You're not scaring me."

He shook his head and started toward the door. "I know you. Trust me, you'll feel differently in the morning."

"But I . . ." she attempted, following him.

"Tomorrow," he said as he opened the door. "Isn't that what you said to me when you kicked me out last night?" And then, with one last smile, he was gone.


	11. The daily grind

A/N: The plot returns! There is more angst to come in future chapters, though, I promise! I might even have another chap ready to post today...depends on whether housecleaning and homework interfere with my 'shipping schedule ;)

A/N 2: Don't let yourselves get too spoiled with my writing speed...I tend to go through phases. One day soon I may hit a rough patch at school and be reduced to posting here once a week or something...

A/N 3: Shellster: I totally happened tore-read "Enery of Nothing" yesterday and so while I was writing that chapter I was like "must not be influenced! must not be influenced!"

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Goren had been right, Alex noted the next morning as she tore through her closet searching for a clean shirt. When he'd left her last night, she'd been feeling something close to dreamy, but he'd warned her that she'd change her mind by the morning.

She had. Now she felt manipulated. She felt gullible.

Currently, she was plotting ways to get rid of his body after she murdered him.

Her phone rang when she had her head and one arm halfway into a too-big shirt she'd managed to pull from the depths of her closet. She let out a curse and jerked it the rest of the way over her head, picking up the phone with the already-dressed arm while she tried to wrestle the other through its sleeve. "Hello."

There was a short pause, and then: "Eames. Uh, hi."

Bobby. Why was she not surprised? She shouldn't have put off deciding how to handle him until the morning; now she was unprepared. "Hi," she finally said as impersonally as she could manage. "What can I do for you?"

Standing in his kitchen with the phone balanced between ear and shoulder as he filled his traveling mug with coffee, Bobby sighed. He'd been hoping that for once his prediction would turn out to be wrong. "You're mad," he acknowledged. "I'm sorry to call so early. I just wanted to know, uh, if you could get into work a little early today."

"What for?" she asked, struggling to pull on her left shoe with one hand.

"I forgot to tell you about this last night: I have the grade reports from the syntax students. They got faxed to us yesterday. I was wondering if you'd meet me early so we can take a look at them before Deakins demands an accounting."

The idea of having work to concentrate on, to distract her from the events of the past few days, was compelling. She took quick stock of her morning routine. It was only seven, and she was already up, showered, and dressed - well, mostly dressed. She could have her laptop and case ready in less than ten minutes. Breakfast could be put off until she got a break later.

Goren, unaware of the evaluation she was carrying out on her end of the phone, took her silence as a rejection. "I'll . . . bring breakfast," he coaxed. "Donuts and coffee?"

Already cramming her laptop into its bag, Eames said distractedly, "Uh, yeah, sure."

He let out a breath. "Good. What kind do you want?"

Hopping on one foot to put on her remaining shoe, and mumbled, "Huh? Doesn't matter."

That was atypical of her, he thought. She usually had no problem giving him a definite breakfast order, especially when he was buying. "Ok," he replied. "I'll see you at work, then. Say, half an hour?"

"Sounds good. Bye." Eager to have another hand to tie her shoes, Eames flipped the phone closed before Goren could answer her and stuffed it into her pocket.

"Hmm," Goren murmured, looking at the flashing _call time_ screen on his phone. Deciding to suspend judgment until he could get a look at her, he slipped it into his pocket, grabbed his suit jacket, and jogged out the door.

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Goren was already settled at his desk when she arrived. When she slipped into her chair across from him, he slid the box of donuts toward her without a word. A few seconds later, he passed her three of the student files. "You get Alejandro, Jim, and Sara."

"You started already?" she asked, nodding toward the open folder in front of him. She felt a rush of relief at how normal he was acting. Maybe they could get through the day without killing each other, after all.

"Andrew Kim's file's twice the size of the others. The guy must have been taking six classes a semester for most of the time he's been there."

"Damn," she said wonderingly. "I couldn't handle six classes as an undergrad. I can't _imagine _tackling six as a grad student!"

"He probably doesn't do anything that's not school-related," he said with a shake of his head. "But so far nothing in here has struck me as useful. I'm hoping you find something in one of yours."

With a shrug, she grabbed a jelly donut and opened the folder holding Sara King's records.

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An hour later, Goren grunted and looked up at her. "I think I might have something."

"Shoot," she said, scooting her chair around to the side of his desk. "Damn, you're still on Andrew Kim?"

Studiously ignoring the fact that she was sitting entirely too close for his professional comfort, he pushed the folder and a legal pad toward her. "I told you it was long. He was in his seventh year. But here, look." He pointed to a page on the notepad with his writing on it, then to the page that was open in the file. "I listed the classes by instructor instead of semester. What do you see?"

She scanned the sheet. "His grades are all A's and A-minuses . . . except in the classes he took with Li. Those are in the B range." She paused and looked up at Goren. "That's weird. Didn't everybody say that Kim was Li's favorite?"

"They did," he said with an emphatic nod. "And I want to know if they were lying to us, or if he was lying to them."

"Andrew doesn't seem to have been alone," Eames said after a few more minutes, gesturing toward the open folders on her desk. "King and Owens both have drops in their grades too, although not as large as Kim's. I guess it makes sense, to some extent, given that we know he was a tough grader."

"Could be," he said with a slight nod. "But didn't Henry Jones say that Jim Owens was supposed to be one of the best?"

"Maybe he was being generous," she suggested. "Not wanting to badmouth a student who hadn't done anything to get himself in trouble?"

"Mmm." He looked back down at the files scattered around them. "We need more information about how these kids interacted with Li, and we're not going to get that kind of stuff from a group interview like I did the other day."

"You want to invite them over to play?" she asked, fishing around her desk for the list of contact numbers Goren had gathered from the students.

"Yeah," he said with a cunning look. "And let's . . . switch things up a little. These are college kids, they run on hormones - you take the boys, I'll take the girls."

"You're a crafty son-of-a-bitch, aren't you?" she said in an exaggerated accent. Looking over her shoulder to assure herself that they were alone, she added quietly in her normal voice, "And you're not afraid I'm going to throw one of the boys on the table and flirt him to death?"

"No." Apparently done with the subject, he looked back down at his paperwork.

"Why the change of heart?" she pressed, wary of this substantial change in his attitude.

"Not now," he muttered, not looking up as he spoke.

Eames glared at the top of his head, wishing she could launch herself across their desks and throttle him.

After a few seconds of pointed silence from Eames, Goren realized that she was staring at him. "I said 'not now,'" he said, correctly interpreting her death glare. "As in, 'now, no; later, yes'."

"I'm holding you to that," she announced as she focused her eyes on Alejandro Torreira's phone number and picked up the phone.

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"Thank you for coming in, Sara," Goren said a few hours later. "I'm Detective Goren, if you don't remember me. Are you missing any classes to be here?"

The student shook her head. "No, this is my free day. But do you mind telling me why you needed me to come up here?"

Goren gave her his charming-detective smile. "Good. I wouldn't want to get you in trouble with your professors. I asked you here because I was hoping you could give me some more information about your department. You know, who's dating who, who's getting the best grades, who people don't get along with . . ." he said, waving his hand casually. "That sort of thing."

Sara's eyes fixed thoughtfully on a wanted poster tacked to the wall. "In other words, gossip. Hmm."

Goren stayed quiet, figuring that she'd speak when she was ready, and after a few seconds she did: "There's a fair amount of flirting between all the students. Our department is unusual in that it's evenly balanced with guys and girls. We can be kind of . . . insular in our social habits."

Goren caught a trace of something in her voice and decided to follow her lead. "Social habits, huh? So," he asked conversationally, leaning back in his chair and raising his eyebrows, "were you dating anyone?"

She shook her head, a distasteful look on her face. "Drew and I dated for a while, but he got . . . weird."

"Weird with you? Or weird in general?"

"Both. At first it was just in general; he wanted to spend more time at school and less time with his friends. Then seeing me was suddenly tough to work into his schedule. And then . . . he got an attitude. You saw how he was talking when you were in our office. As if Dr. Li was some wonderful teacher who we just weren't smart enough to understand."

"And that wasn't the case, I assume?" he replied.

"Hell no. Look, I know he's dead and you're looking for people who would have had a reason to hate him, so don't take this the wrong way, but the guy was _mean_. He hated students - except Drew. He hated teachers - except Bhat. I don't think there are too many of us who are sad that he's dead," she said with a shrug. "Beyond the general sense of 'oh my god, someone I know has been killed'," I mean.

"You think Andrew had, I don't know, fallen under Li's spell?" Goren said, sitting forward again and speaking with a hint of excitement.

"I guess you could say that," she replied, unconsciously mirroring his posture and leaning forward, too. "It was weird . . ."

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While Goren charmed Sara King in the conference room, Eames was getting Alejandro Torreira settled in one of the interview rooms. "Sorry we have to talk in here," she said as she shut the door behind them. "There's no one behind the mirror right now; we're just in here because we're short on private areas that _aren't_ like these," she added, waving her arm to indicate the narrow room they were in.

"It's ok," the boy said, squinting at the one-way mirror and obviously trying to figure out for himself if he was being watched. "It's kind of cool. You see it on TV, you know, but you never expect to in real life."

She smiled. "It can be surreal. But you have you before you one very real detective who has some questions for you."

"Ok," he said, not sounding quite as enthused.

"By the way, call me Alex," she said as she sat down across from him. "It's only fair."

That got a smile out of Alejandro. "Yeah, I forgot about that. So, uh . . . what do you need to ask me?"

"Mmm," Eames said, picking up a pen and fiddling with it with one hand, "we need background about your department. Anything you can tell me about who's doing what with whom."

Alejandro blinked. "What do you mean by . . . 'doing'?"

"Everything, up to and including who's 'doing' who, if you're ok with telling."

"Wow, you guys don't fool around," he said, resting his chin in his hand. "It's complicated, though. When it comes to personal relationships, linguistics people tend to play 'musical partners'."

Eames raised her eyebrows and motioned for him to continue.

"I've got a girlfriend in the Psych department, so I'm not totally immersed in the goings-on, but . . . Sara and Drew were an item for most of the year. They're over now. I think she finally picked up on his habit of insulting her whenever he gets a chance. Jana . . ." He stopped, eyed her critically. "Is this stuff going to get out? Because I'm sorry, but I'm not going to spread gossip about people I like."

"If it's something I think might be important, I'm obligated to follow it up," Eames acknowledged. "But my partner and I are used to dealing with secrets that don't add up to anything. Unless it has bearing on the case or it's illegal, it will never be made public; it might not be even if it _does _affect the case." She shrugged. "Believe it or not, we're not too big on ruining people's lives."

"Good. Because I like my friends."

"I promise, Alex," she said. "I'm not going to tell tales. Scout's honor."

He looked at her for a second longer, then nodded. "Ok. Well, there was a rumor that Jana was dating Dr. Murphy. I don't know if it's definitely true, but I know she did have a crush on him."

"Dr. Murphy was the chair who disliked Dr. Li?"

"Yeah. Murph was cool, if I were a girl I might have gone for him too."

She grinned, struck by an image of the stocky hispanic boy in a pair of high heels. "Interesting."

He blushed. "You know what I mean . . ."

"I do," she said with a serious nod, wiping the smile off her face. "What else you got for me? Did the students gossip about who was doing well in classes?"

"Of course. It's the departmental pastime. Everyone wants to know how they're measuring up."

"Nice," she said with a nod. "Fill me in . . ."


	12. Donuts and Deakins

A/N: thousand-miles, yep, Pizza Boy is mine - and don't apologize for giving a long review, the longer the better! Franta, I know it seems up in the air, but that's kind of what I was aiming for. They're dancing around each other nervously now, not sure where they stand.

A/N 2: Oops, sorry for that 11-12 run-on chapter thing. I fixed it now :)

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They worked straight through lunch, both of them reluctant to break their interviewing groove or to have to deal with each other. By time time three o'clock rolled around and Goren directed Jana Wu to the elevator, Eames was slumped over her desk, her chin ostensibly supported in one hand but actually almost resting on the desk itself. Jim Owens and Alex Torreira had both been polite and helpful, and a few hours ago she'd felt excitement at the information she was gathering, but now it had been almost eight hours since that morning's jelly donut, and even looking up as her partner approached seemed like entirely too much effort.

"You ok?" he asked, leaning over so that his head was almost on her desk, too, and he could look into her eyes.

"Yeah," she managed with a sigh. "Just tired. Are we done?"

"For now. You said Andrew Kim couldn't come in until tomorrow, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Then we're done." He watched for a second as she flashed a quick smile and then rested her head back on her arms. "What did you have for lunch?"

"Lunch?" she said with a snort. "You're kidding."

Goren, who had gleefully stolen the last donut out from under Logan's hand around noon but was starting to feel hungry again, thought for a second. "You didn't eat anything, did you."

"I was busy."

"Well, that was great a few hours ago, but now look at you. You can't even pick up your head."

"Can too," she argued, demonstrating by lifting her head off her arms and sticking her tongue out at him.

"Hey, Alex!" a voice interrupted before Goren could come up with a retort. A bag of M&Ms came flying through the air and would have hit Eames in the head if Goren hadn't moved quickly and snatched the candy out of the air. Both detectives raised their heads and looked for the source of the toss.

"Sorry," Logan said, sidling up and leaning against the side of Eames's desk. "Didn't realize my aim was that off." He yanked the candy out of Goren's hand and handed it to her, then pulled another bag out of his pocket, ripped it open, and looked back down at Eames, who had turned her head sideways to see him as he spoke. "Your keeper over here stole my lunch a few hours ago," he said, nodding toward Goren. "I figured he might have done the same to you. Looks like I was right."

"You stole his _lunch_?" Eames hissed at Goren. "Bobby!"

"It was a donut, for god's sake! I bought them in the first place!"

Logan rolled his eyes. "Either way, I figured you probably hadn't been fed. I've got more of these," he added, gesturing at the bag, "if you want them. I buy in bulk; they're handy for the busy days."

Eames tore open the bag he'd given her and shook a few into her mouth, giving him a brilliant smile as she swallowed. "Sugar rush, just what I needed. Thanks, Mike."

"No problem." With the express purpose of irritating Goren, he reached over and tousled Eames hair. "See ya later, kid."

"What the-" Goren began, but Logan was gone before he could get out the rest of the sentence. "He touched you," he accused, looking down at Eames.

"Humans do that sometimes," she replied airily after swallowing another mouthful of chocolate. "Damn, he's got good timing. I was about to start gnawing on my arm."

Frustrated at having been upstaged yet again, Goren dropped into his desk chair. "Well, _I_ was aboutto ask if you wanted to go out for a late lunch."

"You know we can't. We've got four statements to deal with before we can go home. Not to mention needing to work out what I'm going to ask Andrew Kim tomorrow."

Goren scowled. "We have plenty of time to do that. Even if we don't finish before quitting time, we could, uh, work on them tonight."

Eames, not yet feeling up to a fight, chose to ignore that. "You have your notes from the girls?"

"Of course."

"Good," she said, standing up on shaky legs. The sugar hadn't permeated her entire bloodstream yet, she realized with annoyance. "I've got mine too. The conference room's free, let's grab Deakins and kill two birds with one stone."

Goren, observant even through his irritation, quickly moved around the desks and took hold of her right arm to support her. "Fine. Hey, Captain," he called as they passed Deakins's office, "you want a status?"

As they'd expected, the prospect of an update had the older man out of his office and following them within seconds. "Uh, Alex?" he asked, noticing that she wasn't walking normally. "You ok?"

"She's fine," Goren answered for her. "She skipped lunch."

"That was dumb," Deakins told her candidly.

"She knows."

"_She_," Eames said, pulling her arm away from Goren, "can speak for herself, thanks." She looked over her shoulder at Deakins. "I'm fine. Goren's just in an overprotective mood."

"Ah." Deakins looked between the two detectives, trying to put a finger on the new undercurrent running between them. "So," he said afraid a few seconds of failing to pin it down, "what have you guys been up to today?"

"Interviews," Eames said, taking her usual seat near the door. "We called back the advisees to see if we could get information about how each of them dealt with the victim."

"There were discrepancies between the grades in their official records and what we had been told when we talked to them before," Goren added.

"So we decided to split them up," Eames finished.

"And?"

Eames smirked. _"And . . _. I swear, that department was like a singles club!"

Deakins raised an eyebrow. "That good, huh?"

"Sara King and Andrew Kim were in dating," Goren picked up, "but they broke up because Kim got, and I quote: 'weird'."

"Alejandro Torreira's about as close as we're going to come to an impartial observer," Eames said. "Because he dates someone outside the department. He told me something _very _interesting: Jana Wu was in a relationship with the ex-department chair."

"The one who hated Li?" asked Deakins.

"The same."

"Jana Wu confirmed it, although reluctantly," Goren supplied. "Apparently they're still seeing each other, and finding it easier now that he's not officially her 'professor' anymore."

"Good for them," Deakins said distractedly, "but what does that have to do with Li getting murdered?"

"Probably nothing," answered Eames. "But we thought it was interesting. Now, what _might _have more to do with the murder is the fact that both of the students I talked to were sure that Andrew Kim was getting straight A's, at least in Li's classes."

"But he wasn't," Goren added, sliding his legal pad across to Deakins. "He was actually doing _worse _in Li's classes_."_

"Worse than the other students who supposedly weren't as good as him," Eames emphasized.

"Huh," Deakins grunted. "So what are you thinking?"

They exchanged glances. "We're not sure yet," Goren finally said, speaking for both of them. "Alex is going to talk to Kim tomorrow morning. Until then, we're really only hypothesizing."

"It's possible that Kim or one of the others felt that the low grades they were getting from Li were too damaging," Eames said. "And that they decided that to survive academically, they had to kill him."

"Jeez," Deakins said with a shake of his head. "Reminds me why I'm glad I went to the Academy instead of grad school."

"You considered going to grad school?" Eames asked, curious at this unexpected insight.

Deakins shrugged. "For about thirty seconds, but I had just gotten married and bought a house, so I decided that the last thing I wanted was more debt."

"Smart," Goren said with a nod.

"And look where I ended up," the captain joked. "Closeted in a conference room with Sherlock Holmes and his mini-Sherlock, discussing killer students."

Eames wasn't sure whether to take it as a compliment that he hadn't called her Goren's Dr. Watson, or as an insult that she was only "mini" Sherlock. Deciding to give Deakins the benefit of the doubt, she just nodded.

"Where are you going with this now?" Deakins continued after a moment. "Going to wait until you get more from Kim?"

"Basically," Eames said. "Goren's theory is that he'll spill his guts to me because college boys are controlled by their testosterone."

Deakins snorted. "Definitely a possibility, but go easy on the kid. No mini-skirts or v-necks."

"Oh, but how will I ever get him to talk without coming on to him?" she replied innocently, looking at Deakins but obviously speaking pointedly to Goren.

Deakins, no idiot, glanced from one to the other. "You want to let me in on the joke?"

"No," both detectives said sharply.

He took a second to think about that, then remembered something. "That reminds me . . . Alex, you owe me an explanation. My office, five minutes."

Eames sighed. She had almost made it through the day without having to deal with him, but now she'd been caught dead to rights. "Yes, sir."

Goren watched Deakins make his way back to his office, then turned to Eames, who had stood up and started gathering her papers. "What was that about?"

"Yesterday," she said shortly.

"Oh." That was less than ideal, he thought. Deakins prying into Eames's personal affairs was sure to stir up trouble for both partners.

"Go home early, Bobby. I'll call you if he says anything you need to hear about."

Goren was still looking at her questioningly when she turned her back and walked out of the room.

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"You seem a lot better," Deakins said as she walked into his office. "Nary a breakdown in sight."

"It wasn't a breakdown," she said, standing in front of his desk defensively.

"Ok," he said, putting his feet up on his desk and twirling a pencil between his fingers. "You want to tell me what it was, then?"

"It was just . . . a thing."

"A thing," he repeated flatly.

"Would you believe me if I told you it was 'a female thing'?"

"Nice try, Alex. Not unless it involves your nephew being hurt or you bleeding uncontrollably."

She sighed. She hadn't really expected to be able to foist off an excuse on him, but it had been worth a try. "Honestly, it wasn't anything big. I was . . . I had had an argument with someone, and I was upset, and I didn't want people to see me cry. It was unprofessional of me."

"Who did you fight with?"

"I'd, uh . . . I'd rather not say," she fudged. "The person didn't mean to upset me."

"Well, they still did a bang-up job of it. I don't like seeing my people upset. Tell me who it was, and I'll have a talk with them."

"No!" She shook her head. "I don't need to be protected, Captain. I'm a grown-up, I can solve my own problems."

"Wait a second," Deakins said, eyes narrowing. "Was it the same person who left those bruises on you the other day?"

Eames choked on a breath and dropped into one of the chairs.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said dryly. "This complicates things."

"Uh . . . complicates them how, exactly?"

"Like I said, I don't like my people being upset. I also don't like them being injured. If I have someone here who's been doing both to you, it needs to stopped." He couldn't believe that he was having to ask this; who the hell would possibly want to hurt tiny little Eames, who rarely had a bad word for anybody she worked with? Besides that, how could anyone pull it off without the ever-observant Goren noticing and setting them straight?

"It's . . ." she stammered. "It's, uh . . . nobody, sir, honestly. Like I told you yesterday, the bruises weren't from someone deliberately hurting me."

"Alex, I can't let you push this aside. Even just from my point of view of as your boss, not your friend. It's affecting your ability to work, as yesterday clearly showed."

"That was an anomaly. I swear to you, I've dealt with the person I fought with and they know better than to mess with me again."

"Was it Mike Logan?" Deakins said abruptly.

She blinked. "What? No!"

"I happen to know you were with him yesterday. Tell me the truth."

Suppressing a bubble of semi-hysterical laughter, Eames just shook her head. "Honest to god, Captain, it wasn't Logan. He just tried to comfort me once I was already upset."

"In the bathroom. Alone with you."

She stiffened. "Look, I respect your concerns, both as a friend and as a boss," she said guardedly, "but what you're implying crosses the line. Even if it were true, which it's not, it wouldn't be my obligation to tell you, or your right to ask."

"Look, Alex . . ."

"I'll say it one more time," she said, standing up and leaning slightly over his desk. "I'm fine. Nobody is abusing me; you should know that I'd abuse them right back if someone did. I had an argument with someone yesterday and it shook me up. I lost control and started crying, so I went to the bathroom and tried to stop. Mike Logan noticed and lent me his handkerchief - and yes, I know you saw it - and that's all he did." Standing upright and crossing her arms, she looked at him defiantly. "Got it?"

Deakins raised his eyebrows, surprised by her vehemence. "Got it. But Eames," he added as she turned toward the door, "I'm keeping my eye on you."

"Whatever."


	13. Flashback

A/N: Holy shit, you should have seen my first draft for this chapter. It was truly horrible! After writing 5000 words, I went back and erased 3000 of them and started again - ending up with what you see here. Mayyyybe another chapter tonight, if I have insomnia like I did yesterday...

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Goren was still sitting at his desk when she emerged from Deakins's office. When he caught sight of her, he pushed his chair back, stood, and walked to meet her, whispering, "What did he say?"

She shook her head and tried to walk past him. "Don't ask."

He took a step to the side, still blocking her path. "Tell me."

"No way." Hardly pausing, she braced her hand on his chest and pushed, forcing him backwards a step. "You don't need any more information about this, you're agitated enough already."

"I'm not agitated!" he said loudly.

The room took on a hushed quality as everyone looked to see what the unflappable Goren was yelling about. Eames looked up at him and smirked. "Sure you're not."

Dropping both his voice and his head, he growled, "Alex."

She crossed her arms and looked at him unwaveringly. "I'm not giving you any more ammunition."

"Ammu- what?" he asked incredulously.

Glancing around at the interested faces that still surrounded them, she picked up his portfolio and her laptop and grabbed his arm, dragging him from the room. When they were in the less populated area to the side of the elevators, she put down the computer and portfolio and grabbed his tie, pulling his face down to hers. "I'm tired, I'm frustrated, and I'm feeling persecuted. _Don't _mess with me today. Got it?"

Carefully pulling his tie out of her hand, he straightened up. "I don't want to mess with you. I just want to talk to you."

"Not tonight."

"You seemed eager to discuss it this morning," he pointed out.

"That was before I had another terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day."

"At least you have a sense of humor about it," he began, recognizing the title of a children's book in her words. "That's - ow!" He pulled his foot out from under heeled boot and shuffled back a step. "Ok, you're stressed," he admitted.

"Yeah," she said, crossing her arms angrily, "and guess whose fault that is?"

"I'd be happy to play your punching bag if you'll just let me talk to you tonight."

"No." She stabbed at the _down_ button next to the elevator.

"Eames," he pleaded as the elevator doors opened.

She shoved his portfolio at him and repeated, "No," then retreated into the elevator, holding down the _door closed_ button until the doors moved together and she couldn't see his stricken face any longer. When she was sure he couldn't see her, she sagged back against the wall and let out the breath she'd been holding.

Why did he have to do this to her? After last night, she knew that if they got together outside of work, _things_ would happen. He'd be flippant and forget about them by the next day, and she'd be left feeling used and pathetic.

Definitely not her idea of a good night.

But she could still picture the sincere look on his face as the elevator doors had closed. What if he really did just want to make things right?

No, she told herself; if he needed to explain himself, he could do it over lunch during the day or something. It would be just as convenient, and that way he couldn't get close enough to make her lose her head.

Last night had not only been aggravating, it had been _embarrassing_. The hide-your-face, never-speak-of-this-again kind of embarrassing. He'd known. He'd _known_ that if he kissed her, she'd be too distracted to question the motives for his earlier insults any further. And he'd played her like a violin to get things the way he wanted them.

Sometimes she really hated working with someone who might as well be psychic.

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Goren watched the elevators doors close in front of him as he tried to figure out what had just happened. Her reaction to his first question hadn't really been angry, it had just been brisk. When he'd stepped in front of her, he'd known it would piss her off, but he was used to dealing with a mildly pissed off Eames. What he hadn't expected was her sudden explosion into fury.

What he whispered to her before leaving last night had not only been correct, it had been an understatement. She was far beyond being angry with him; he was pretty sure she was approaching true rage. What had he done to set off this explosion?

Well, he knew what he'd done, but he'd considered the ramifications of a kiss before doing it, and nothing had indicated that it would damage their already-strained relationship. He'd figured that the physical contact would break through their barrier of silence; whether she welcomed his touch or not, the cat would be out of the bag and they would no longer have to pretend they didn't know what was going on.

But things were worse now. In the time between last night and this morning, she must have spun the events into some kind of evil plan on his part. That had to be it; why else wouldn't she be willing to at least yell at him about it?

She probably thought that he had plotted the whole thing carefully, that he had had ulterior motives for kissing her. That he was pulling her strings like a marionette. He groaned.

Sometimes he hated having people think he was smarter than he actually was.

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Later, Alex lay on her couch with a book in her hands, staring sightlessly at the pages. She'd been on the same paragraph for an hour; every time she got to the end of it, her phone would ring as it was doing now. She set the book down on top of her leg and looked at the portable phone's caller ID display.

Bobby again.

She picked up the book and returned her eyes to the beginning of the paragraph she'd been working on.

Her answering machine beeped. "I know you're home, Alex," Goren's tinny voice told her. "Pick up the phone. You think things are worse than they are. Pick up and talk to me so I can-" His plea was cut off by a strident _beep_ indicating that his time was up.

That was the fourth message he'd left on her machine tonight. Most of them said essentially the same things: he was sorry, he wanted to talk to her, she was overreacting.

She didn't want to believe him. Her anger felt strangely comforting. She didn't get to wallow enough in her life, she decided, and now she was taking advantage of the opportunity. Besides, Goren deserved it for manipulating her. With a sigh, she told herself to get over it and returned to her book.

The next time the phone rang, she didn't bother checking the caller ID; she just listened for the beep.

_Beep..._ "It's me again," his voice said. "I . . . you're obviously avoiding my calls. I just wanted to . . . I need to talk to you. I think I gave you the wrong impression about the-" _Beep!_

Immediately, the phone rang again. _Beep..._ "The machine cut me off. Please call me, Eames. I think I gave you the wrong impression about what happened last night. I need to explain. You can can me at home or on my cell." He beat the beep this time. She imagined he felt pleased with himself.

He really did sound concerned, she thought. Maybe she should . . .

_No!_ She was in the right here, she reminded herself. It was Goren's responsibility to fix this. She stared down at her book, determined to pay attention to it this time.

To her relief, the phone was silent for almost half an hour before ringing again. She had managed to turn a page in the book and get into the story, and when the phone's ring split the air, she jumped in surprise. Lowering the book, she eyed the caller ID. Not Goren's number, she noted when the sequence appeared on the screen. He had probably stooped to calling from a pay phone. She raised the book again, listening with half an ear for what Goren would whine this time.

Instead, she heard a different voice. "Alex? You home? It's Logan." A pause. "It's a work night. I bet you're home and just refusing to answer. I'm not Goren, ok? Pick up!"

Dropping the book, she dove to grab the phone before the machine hung up on her caller. "Hello?"

"Alex," his surprised voice said. "I was just about to hang up."

"Sorry. I've been getting . . . crank calls."

_Crank calls named Robert Goren, _Logan thought to himself. "If you say so," he told her tolerantly. "You interested in why I'm calling when you're probably already in bed?"

"Hey, why not. Why are you calling, Mike?" she dutifully asked.

"I heard you had an interesting last few minutes at One PP today."

She groaned. "Great, like I needed more office gossip circulating about me."

"Sorry. I did try to sound like I didn't believe it when someone told me what happened."

"What, exactly, did they tell you?"

Ah, he'd gotten her hooked now. "Two things. First, you bitched out Deakins about something or other. Gossip varies on what the topic was. Second, you nearly ripped Goren's head off a few minutes later. True?" he questioned.

"True, I guess," she said tiredly. "Although I wouldn't have put it in those words. Besides, the Deakins thing was as much your fault as mine."

"_My _fault? What'd I do?"

"He wanted me to explain what happened yesterday, which I expected. What threw me off was when he asked if you were the one who picked a fight with me, then asked what I was doing alone with you in the bathroom."

"I take it you denied the allegations?"

"I didn't curse at him, but it was close."

"Well, that's something."

"I guess." Deciding that this discussion called for something more than a romance novel and a couch, she went into the kitchen and pulled out the bottle of vodka she rarely used.

"What's that noise?" Logan asked as her glass clinked against the counter.

"I've been reduced to boozing," she said with a hint of irony. "Vodka and cranberry, here I come."

"Poor girl," he said with a chuckle. "You want some company?"

She suddenly flashed back to the last time she'd gotten really drunk:

_It had been at the department Christmas party a year or two ago. Everyone expected to you to get blitzed at those things, and she'd been vaguely depressed about having only her family to go home to on the holiday, so she'd accepted all the drinks she was offered. By the end of the party, she'd been clinging to Goren, who'd taken note of the fact that she couldn't walk straight and appointed himself her guardian for the night. _

_He'd even danced with her once before turning her over to Deakins. Her dance with Deakins had been cut short, though, as the captain executed a flashy turn and Alex's stomach chose that moment to rebel. She'd left him on the dance floor and run for the bathroom. A few minutes later, Bobby had walked nonchalantly into the ladies room, smiled at two shocked women standing at the sinks, and stretched out his arm to unlock the door to the stall Alex was in._

_She must have looked beyond pathetic, she knew. Her once-chic outfit was wrinkled and stained with the remains of a drink she'd spilled a few hours earlier. Her hair had slipped out of its french twist and hung down in her face every time she stopped holding it back with her hand. She'd been hunched over the toilet for fifteen minutes, wanting to die and yet knowing that things would be ok because . . ._

"_Eames?" he said, crouching down behind and slightly to the side of her. One of his large hands ran up her back, rubbing it soothingly. "How do you feel?"_

_Her response had been to groan and lay her head on the toilet seat. Amazing how she suddenly didn't care how dirty the thing was, now that it was her lifeline._

"_That good, huh," he said with quiet humor. "I'll be right back." He'd stolen a nearly empty garbage bag out of one of the cans and brought it to her. "Hold this. I'm going to stand you up."_

_She'd passively allowed him to hoist her to her feet, where she swayed for a few seconds, swallowing convulsively. "I think I'm . . . ok," she'd finally managed. "Does the captain -"_

"_Taken care of," he assure her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I made your excuses. Feel up to walking out to my car?"_

_She'd nodded. "Get me out of here."_

_He'd bent down then to look into her eyes. "It happens to the best of us," he said reassuringly as he guided her out of the bathroom and then out of the building._

_The ride to her apartment had been silent, as Alex clutched the trash bag and Bobby kept one eye on her and one eye on the road. He'd walked her up to her door and she'd expected him to leave her there, but he'd followed her inside, settling her on the couch with a garbage can by her side._

"_I'm ok," she mumbled, not sure why he was still there._

"_Well," he'd said in his understated way, "I'm going to stay with you a while, if you don't mind. I want to make sure you stay ok."_

_Of course she hadn't minded. In fact, it was almost like being a child again - sick on the couch, covered by a warm blanket, a warm hand and caring voice perched on the edge next to her, soothing her, offering her water . . ._

_She'd fallen asleep some time between two and three, and when she woke up the next afternoon, royally hung-over, he'd been gone. All that was left was a note on the end table by her head, telling her that he figured she'd be ok without him now, but to call him if she needed him._

_She'd spent the rest of that day curled up on the couch, occasionally re-reading the note and trying to extract some hint of affection or comfort from it._

"Alex?" Logan's voice cut into her thoughts. "You there?"

She blinked. "Huh? Sorry."

"I asked you if you wanted some drinking company."

"Oh, uh . . ." She was suddenly hit by a need to see Bobby, he of the warm hands and soothing voice. "Thanks, but no," she told Logan quickly. "Listen, I have to go."

There was a pause. "Are you ok?" he asked after a few seconds.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just . . . have to go do something. Talk to you later." She hung up, cutting off his answer, and swung around to face the rest of the kitchen. What did she have in stock?


	14. A second chance

Goren put down the phone for the eighth time that night. He was finally beginning to accept that Alex wasn't going to answer his calls, no matter how much he pleaded with her answering machine, and the thought was beyond depressing. Particularly because he knew that she'd interpreted his actions the wrong way and he desperately felt the need to explain to her what he'd really meant.

This was ridiculous, he reminded himself. It was midnight. She was probably already in bed, had been for hours, maybe didn't even know he'd been calling. He had to work tomorrow; he couldn't stay up until the wee hours hitting redial again and again. With a sigh, he hung up the phone and stood up from the kitchen table he'd been using as a command post.

He had to put this out of his mind, at least until tomorrow.

He'd just sat down on the bed and shucked off one shoe when the sound of his door buzzer gave him a jolt. Who the hell was buzzing him at well past mid-

He shot to his feet and ran to the door as best he could with one shoe on and one shoe off.

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Alex heard thumping and crashing noises coming from behind the door and wondered what had happened to her partner's usual grace. Clutching her bag to her chest, she took a step back in anticipation of him flying through the door.

Just before he reached for the doorknob, Goren forced himself to a stop and tried to compose himself. He didn't even know who was behind the door, he reminded himself. The last thing he needed was to scare his eighty year-old neighbor by throwing open the the door and getting in his face.

To Alex's surprise, the knob turned slowly. She watched it move, watched the door swing backwards until it revealed Goren's face. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of her.

"Uh, hi," she mumbled. "Can I come in?"

Wordlessly, Bobby swung the door wider and motioned her in. He was almost afraid to speak, knowing that when they started talking, their argument would have to resume.

Alex watched him as she entered his apartment, waiting for him to ask why she'd come, to ask anything at all, but he just looked back at her silently. After a few seconds, she thrust the bag she'd been holding into his hands. "I brought drinks."

He took the bag, but continued to just stare at her for a second. "You what?"

"I thought maybe you'd want to work on a game plan for my interview with Andrew Kim," she muttered, turning her back to him and walking deeper into his apartment. "Since it's starting to look important."

"You brought . . . drinks," he repeated, finally comprehending her words. "Uh, thanks, I guess." He didn't ask if she was going to stay and consume the drinks with him. Her answer would probably be "no," and he didn't want to hear it.

She slowly turned back toward him and he got his first good look at her. She must have changed out of her business suit hours ago, he realized. Now she was wearing a loose pair of jeans and beat-up flannel shirt that looked big enough to fit three of her. He wondered if it had been her husband's.

"That's it?" he asked after a few seconds.

"Huh?"

"You came over to work on the Kim interview?"

"Yes," she said defensively. "But if you're not up to it, I'd be happy to leave . . ."

"No!" he said, quickly stepping between her and the door. "I just . . . was wondering if you're going to let me explain about last night."

"What's to explain?" she said with false brightness, focusing her attention on opening the bag he'd taken from her. "We both know what happened. There's no need to rehash it. Look," she added. "Vodka, rum, cranberry juice, Kahlua," she listed, naming each bottle as she pulled it out and set it on his coffee table.

"Did you clean out your liquor cabinet?" he asked in surprise.

"Only part of it," she said, keeping her voice as upbeat and innocent-sounding as possible. "You still have that scotch in your private stock?"

Bobby was far from fooled. He knew her well enough to see that she wasn't even close to "relaxed"; she looked like she'd jump out of her skin if he came a step too close to her. "Yes," he said, trying to sound neutral. "Let me get it and some glasses and then we can, uh, get to work."

Ok, so she hadn't come to hear his explanation, he thought as he rummaged in his kitchen cabinets. But she had still come, and at such a late hour, he knew it couldn't have been just a work-related whim. He could deal with this; if she was going to be drinking, the odds were even better that he'd be able to convince her to talk to him.

Who was he to complain if the woman wanted a drinking buddy?

Alex was still standing by the table when he reappeared with two highball glasses and a shot glass. "Going to be doing shots?" she teased, picking up the smallest glass as he set it down.

"It's for measuring." He removed it from her hand and set it back on the table. "What, uh . . . I'll make the drinks; what do you want?"

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Ten minutes later, they were settled against opposite arms of his couch, her legs propped up on the back of the couch, his dangling over onto the floor. Each held a photocopy of Andrew Kim's records in one hand and a drink in the other. Their combined notes from the day's interviews lay on the cushion between them.

"He seemed very focused on being seem as better than the others," Goren mumbled, half to himself and half to her. "Should you feed that, or fight it?"

She took another sip of her drink and looked up. "Depends. Am I trying to charm him or scare him?"

"Eames, what I said about you flirting . . ." he began, seizing the opportunity to speak.

"I guess charm is good, at least at first. If it doesn't work out, I can always switch or send you in," she said, pretending she hadn't heard him.

Bobby, frustrated, swallowed half of his drink in one gulp. He had hoped that once he had her settled, she'd be willing to open up, but apparently that wasn't the case. "You can intimidate him quite well on your own; you don't need send me in to do that," he finally said.

She didn't look up this time. "I know. But it's your case too, you're allowed a shot if you want it."

"Well, thank you, I guess. Alex, what happened last night . . ."

"I could drop subtle references to his background," she went on. "According to the school's financial records, his family didn't have the money to send him anywhere. He's only there because of a fellowship. Maybe I can rattle him by acting like that's something to be ashamed of."

"Alex . . ."

"We need to find out when he last saw Li, and whether he ever saw the guy outside of school."

"Eames."

"You think I should show him the abbreviation from the date book? Maybe he can translate it."

"Alex!" he said, speaking loudly enough to drown her out.

She blinked and looked up at him. "What?"

"Are you going to let me talk about last night?"

"No," she said firmly, and returned her eyes to her notes. "I bet he can read it. Or we could call Robi tomorrow and see if he can do it. One or the other of them must be familiar enough with his habits."

Deciding he needed time to plan a strategy, he stood up and plucked the glass out of her hand. "How about a refill?" he asked, then turned and headed for the table without letting her answer.

Bent over their makeshift bar, he searched his head for some technique he hadn't already tried. He'd done the abject apology thing; he'd tried being casual and waiting for her to bring it up; he'd attempted to slip it into the conversation without her noticing. He'd even come out and asked her directly, twice. What was left?

His mischievous id suggested an even more direct approach: touch her. She couldn't ignore him if he was forcing her to keep her mind off work.

But as satisfying as that would be, both mentally and physically, he realized that it was the worst choice he could make. She already resented him for kissing her last night; he didn't need to make things worse by doing it again, and this time blatantly to control her.

"Bobby?" she asked from the couch. "You ok over there?"

Snapping back to reality, he looked down and noticed that he had almost overfilled his glass with the scotch he had been pouring. "Just fine," he told her quickly, carefully lifting the glass and drinking enough of the liquid to make it portable. Putting his new drink down, he moved on to hers. Her glass was still half-full, but he topped it off with another healthy dose of vodka followed by a dollop of cranberry juice.

He watched her as he carried their drinks back to the couch. Her face was mostly hidden by her hair, which she hadn't bothered to pull back, but he could tell that she was concentrating on the folder in her hands. How could she possibly focus with all this tension filling the room? He wished he had her equanimity.

"Thanks," she mumbled, accepting the drink without looking up.

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One hour and two refills later, Goren was working his way across the couch toward his partner, moving excruciatingly slowly. He'd covered five inches in the past fifteen minutes and was nearly ready to tear his hair out, but it was working - Alex, absorbed in Andrew Kim's history, was oblivious. She was also slightly drunk.

He'd known it wasn't fair to keep pace with her; four drinks had hardly affected him, but they were about the most Eames could consume without becoming officially drunk. He was perfectly aware of that, which was why he had no intention of giving her any more alcohol to drink. It was also why he felt that he might have a chance to talk to her now.

She was much more relaxed now, slouching against the arm of the couch. Her face was no longer so tense, although he didn't doubt that she'd snap back to normal in a second if he started talking about last night again.

Therefore, he wasn't talking about last night. Instead, he was going to run an experiment: how close could he get to her before she got alarmed? And what would happen when she noticed, in her somewhat intoxicated state?

He slid forward another half-inch.

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Alex was busily sketching out an outline of tomorrow's interview on a piece of scrap paper when something brushed her shoulder. She jumped, dropping her pencil and managing to give herself a papercut. "Shit!"

Goren, who had been focused on controlling the amount of pressure he used when he touched her shoulder and hadn't been expecting her sudden movement, jumped too. Taking in the situation, he bent over to retrieve her pencil, slipped it into her uninjured hand, and took hold of the hand with the papercut. "Sorry."

She blinked, noticing that now that she'd moved her eyes away from the paper, things were looking slightly blurry. Great, not only had she been dumb enough to go to Goren's apartment in the middle of the night, but she'd been enough of an imbecile to go and get drunk while she was there. "What? Oh, it's ok. I was concentrating too hard." She had to think for a second to remember what it was that had startled her. "Was it you that just touched me?"

Bobby stilled, but kept hold of her hand. "Uh, yeah."

"You need something?"

"No," he said slowly. "I was just . . . rearranging myself."

"Oh." She looked at him warily for a second. "Can I have my hand back? It's just a cut."

"Sure." He put her hand down and pretended to shift his weight, using the movement to cover the fact that he'd moved another inch toward her. "Sorry I scared you."

"It's ok." She gestured at the notes she'd been making. "I was concentrating on my evil scheme."

"Oh?" He held out his hand for the paper. "Let me see."

She handed him the paper and moved her attention back to Kim's records. Her interest was caught by a short paragraph stapled to the back cover of the folder, and she looked closer. "Hey, look at th-" she began, cutting off abruptly when she raised her head to look at him and found his ear less than an inch from her face. She froze.

"Huh?" he asked, turning his head to look at her, which placed his lips in the position his ear had been in a moment ago.

He didn't seem to have noticed how close he was to her, she thought. "Uh, Bobby?"

"Hmm?" He was no longer looking at her; he'd lowered his eyes to where her finger was pointing in the file. "Dr. Li didn't want to admit him," he murmured after reading the paragraph. "Now _that's _interesting."

"Bobby."

He looked up at her. "Yes?"

She smiled weakly and tried to make a joke out of it: "You might as well just sit on my lap if you're going to sit this close."

He blinked. "I'd crush you."

She didn't know whether he was being purposely obtuse or whether he was really that clueless, but the situation and the alcohol finally broke through the last of her restraint. She started laughing.

Hard.

Bobby watched her with interest. She was laughing instead of trying to kill him - a big improvement over her previous reactions to him in the past few days. "I mean, I can if you want," he pushed on, curious to see how far she'd let him go. "But you'd have to give me a hand."

Eames laughed harder and slumped against him, shaking.

"Of course," he said, inching an arm around her shoulders, "we could always do it the other way."

"What other way?" she said teasingly. "I think there's only one way to sit on a lap."

"How about _you _sit in _my_ lap?" he said.

Her laughter stopped as if someone had just turned off the spigot. "Don't."

He sighed. "Would you please let me explain about last night?"

She moved away. "Goren, I told you . . ."

"You know you're stuck here for at least another few hours anyway while you sober up. Just give me ten minutes."

She sighed. "Fine. I don't know what you think you're going to explain, though. It seemed pretty clear-cut to me."

"Well, it wasn't."

"Fine," she said again, and just looked at him, waiting.

"Can I . . . move closer?" he asked, moving his hand toward her gingerly.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why?"

She pushed his hand away. "Because it's become obvious that you know that touching me will shut me up, and I don't like being manipulated."

"But I don't know that!" he protested. "You're giving me too much credit. I kissed you last night because I wanted to know how you'd react to me, not because I thought it would give me an advantage."

At the word _kissed_, she closed her eyes, trying to contain her embarrassment. Even in his apology, he knew what she was talking about before she could make her argument! "That was a mistake."

"No it wasn't!" he said, stricken by the idea that she thought of him as a mistake. "It wasn't a mistake. You liked it."

"Don't start on that. How do you know it had anything to do with you? Maybe I would have reacted to any guy who kissed me; you know I don't get out much."

Goren felt like she'd slapped him. He hadn't thought of that; he had assumed it was him she was reacting to. The thought that he was just a convenient body was as painful as the thought that she saw him as a mistake.

Alex caught his rapid change in expression and wanted to kick herself. At the very least, she could have phrased that more delicately. Where was her usual perceptiveness? "Look, I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I . . . pushed you."

His face had taken on the look of exhausted defeat that she associated with his Nicole Wallace encounters and she wanted to reach out to him, to tell him that it wasn't his fault. Did her rejection really cut him as deeply as his battles with the woman who'd wormed under his skin and eaten away at his soul?

What if he was telling the truth, and he really had just wanted to kiss her? He was so shy about personal matters; she could only imagine what he'd be feeling now if she'd just shot a hole in something he honestly wanted.

But what did _she _want? She wasn't sure. He was right, she'd enjoyed the kiss. More than enjoyed. He probably could have made love to her last night without a hint of protest from Alex . . . but he hadn't. She closed her eyes and tried to remember exactly what the sequence of events had been . . .

He'd kissed her so intensely. She hadn't even been conscious of almost falling, but he had been, and he'd caught her. He'd looked at her, murmured that _this _was her decision. There had been triumph in his voice, but it wasn't the triumph of a man who'd bent a woman to his will. It had been the same kind of triumph she'd heard in his voice so many times before, as they closed a case. His voice of triumph that meant, _I went out on a limb for this one, but I was right. I was right! _

And then he'd pulled away, telling her that he was going to get himself killed. He'd known her well enough to understand that her acquiescence in the moment might not last. He'd called her "My Eames" then, and looked embarrassed when she caught it. He'd been afraid he was scaring her - with his physical contact, or his words, she wondered?

And then he'd left.

What did it add up to? She bit her lip, knowing what conclusion she was going to be forced to reach: if he'd started the kiss because of some secret agenda, he'd abandoned the plan within seconds. He'd continued to kiss her because he wanted to. More importantly, he'd left because he knew she would have wanted him to if she had been coherent. He hadn't taken advantage of her, far from it. He had stopped himself before crossing the line, specifically because he didn't want to take unfair advantage.

She opened her eyes and found Goren watching her intently. He hadn't moved; in fact, he looked like he was frozen in place. His eyes were glued to her face and his own face bore the expression of someone waiting for the axe to fall.

"Bobby . . ." she managed, meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry."

It was his turn to close his eyes and shake his head. "Don't be. I, uh . . . I understand why you're angry. I can see what it must have seemed like . . ."

"No! No," she cut him off. "I was angry because I lost control, but I only . . . I just realized now that the whole time, you kept your mind on me."

He blinked. "I don't understand. I mean, of course I was thinking about you while I was kissing you."

"Not like that. You kept yourself focused on me, Alex, as the Alex you knew. You didn't do what you wanted . . . you did what you knew I wanted."

He stared at her, still not understanding her point. "I-"

"Look," she said, sliding nearer to him and sitting up on her knees to bring her head level with his, "you kissed me because you wanted to. I kissed you back because _I _wanted to. I assume you would have, uh, wanted more, but you didn't even try, because you knew that I might not want it. So you left, instead."

He stared at her, shocked that she understood, and so clearly. What had happened to the Eames of a few hours ago, who wouldn't even speak to him? "Uh . . ."

"I may be slower than you," she said with a shrug, reading the question in his eyes, "but I catch up eventually."

"So you're . . . not angry?"

She thought about that for a second. "I still am, a little. More like 'annoyed.' Let's just say your technique was a little lacking."

He continued to stare at her for another long second, and then the impassive mask he'd kept on for most of the argument shattered. The look of delight that spread across his face would have seemed comical to Alex if she hadn't been too busy wondering whether he would kiss her again, now that she'd admitted liking it.

He made an obvious effort to contain himself and said hesitantly, "Are you sure you're telling the truth now? You're not just trying to mitigate the effects of your last comment?"

"I promise. I wouldn't lie to you about this. I may be a bitch sometimes, but I'm not _that _much of a bitch."

He nodded slowly. "No, you're not. So are we . . . you really forgive me?" He was having a hard time adapting to this sudden change. He'd expected to spend the night trying to win her over, but now it seemed like the winning had already been done . . . and he was at a loss for what the next step was supposed to be.

"So," she said, looking down at the folder that still sat in her lap. "You, uh, liked my reaction, then."

He swallowed.

She looked at him.

He stared at his hands.

Silence reigned.

And then the phone rang.

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A/N: Ok, yes, I admit I am an exceedingly cruel person to end the chapter this way, but it just seemed right! To everyone who's been asking if I'll eventually resolve the tension, the answer's yes, but I can't tell you exactly when (mostly because I don't know, myself). So just keep hanging on!

A/N, Jr.: Thank you for pointing out that posting error, thousand-miles, and for recommending me to your Yahoo! group. It makes me feel all squishy inside to know that people think I'm good enough to recommend!


	15. Interlude

A/N: Gerfan, your review got cut off. Have I ever thought of posting...where?

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They both jumped at the shrill sound of Goren's phone ringing. Alex jerked away from him as though whoever was on the phone could see them and looked at him, wide-eyed. "Who's calling you this late at night?"

"Normally, I'd say it was you," he said with a grin, "but in this case, I'm pretty sure you're otherwise occupied."

When she gave him a prim look, he just shrugged and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Goren," said Deakins's voice, "I know it's late, but I need you up at Empire State."

"Why? What's wrong?" Deakins rarely called them out after their day shift ended. When he did, it was usually something big.

"Two of the offices have been ransacked - Li's and Sara King's."

Already searching for his shoes, he said, "How ransacked?" He noticed that Eames had taken his cue and was already tying her own sneakers. He gave her a grateful smile.

"Ransacked enough for Sara King to have been knocked on the head when the guy did it."

"Is she ok?"

"More or less. I think she'd feel better if we had a female officer here, though - so call Eames, would you?"

"No problem." He jammed his left foot into a shoe, realized it was his right shoe, and kicked it off.

Giving him a knowing look, Alex grabbed the shoe as it went flying by, untied both shoes, which he had simply pulled off earlier that night, checked to see which was which, and put each in front of his correct foot. _Thank you_, he mouthed as he shoved his foot into the right shoe.

She just shrugged and looked at him expectantly, wanting to know what the call was about.

"Good. Thanks. You remember how to get to the building?"

"Yeah. We'll be there as fast as we can. See you." He disconnected the call and turned to his partner, who was fidgeting impatiently. "Two offices at Empire State were broken into. Whoever did it hit Sara King and knocked her out."

She stared at him for a second. "Damn."

"I'm supposed to call you and ask you to come along so you can comfort her."

Heading for the door without waiting to see if he followed her, she said over her shoulder, "Well, this is one way to save on phone bills."

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Deakins saw Goren's car pull to a stop just outside the tape perimeter and jogged over to get a head start briefing them. "Sorry, guys," he said when two obviously grumpy detectives emerged from the car. "Breakfast is on me, since we'll probably be here until then anyway."

"How generous," Eames remarked, looking past his shoulder toward the open-doored ambulance a few yards away. "It's just as well you only need me for comforting this time; I've had a couple drinks tonight."

Goren frowned, having told her a few minutes ago that he didn't think Deakins needed to know about drinks she'd consumed hours ago. "She's fine to work," he said. "You can tell she's not drunk."

"True," Deakins agreed, taking a close look at her. "But let's play this one safe. Goren, you go do the scene. Eames, the victim's in the back of the bus."

"Right." She turned and walked off, focused on the ambulance's flashing lights.

"I think you're in trouble," Deakins said, elbowing Goren. "Did you see the look on her face when you said that?"

"She'll get over it," he said distractedly. "Who's upstairs?"

"CSU got here a few minutes before you did, they're still setting up up there. The two campus safety officers who took the call, and the two uniforms who took _their _call are all up there, too.

"Why are the school people still up there?" Goren asked. That was strange; procedure was usually to clear the scene of all non-law-enforcement personnel.

"No idea. As they long as they don't misbehave, I could care less." He looked back at the cluster of people standing in front of the building. "Go. I'm trying to get in touch with the rest of the people we've interviewed and make sure we're not going to spend the rest of the night chasing after dead students."

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"Sara?" Eames said, approaching the blond girl sitting on the edge of the ambulance's floor. "I'm Alex, do you remember me?"

"Yeah," Sara said, almost too quietly to hear.

Eames looked over at the two male EMTs and raised her eyebrows in silent question.

"She's basically ok," one of them said. "She's got a pretty good-sized goose-egg and we want to take her in just to cover all the bases, but her pupils are equal and reactive and she's speaking with no trouble."

"Sounds like you got lucky," Eames said to the girl, sitting down next to her. "How do you feel right now?"

The girl blinked rapidly. "Like I want my mommy, as stupid as that sounds."

Eames smiled, remembering her flashback earlier in the night to Bobby taking care of her. "I know the feeling. I'm thirty-nine and I still want my mommy when I get sick."

A small smile appeared on Sara's face. "Good to know I'm not the only one. What's going on up there?" she asked, staring up at the lone lighted window visible.

"I haven't been up there, myself," Eames said, "but from what I hear, someone went through your office and Dr. Li's."

"Yeah, I already pretty much knew that. It's weird," the girl replied. "My stuff was all torn apart when I woke up, but Drew's was less messed up. Mostly just open drawers and stuff."

Unobtrusively pulling out her notebook, Eames asked, "Did you have anything in your office anyone would have reason to steal? Valuables, old tests students could use to cheat?"

"No. I left my laptop at home today 'cause it's too heavy to lug around if I don't need it. The rest is just filing cabinets with my graded papers and teaching schedules."

"Any reason anyone could want those?"

"Not really. They're not good for anything except bragging rights - or lack of bragging rights, in my case."

"Would someone be interested enough in your grades to break in to see them?"

"No way. Not when anyone could just wander in any time Drew or I are there during the day and help themselves." Catching Eames's questioning look, she said, "You'd be amazed at the stuff that'll walk out of these offices if you stop paying attention for a second."

"Ah." She flipped the page in her notebook. "What were the events that led up to you getting hit? Why were you in your office so late?"

"Psycholinguistics paper," she said in a tone of voice most people would reserve for roadkill or dog droppings.

Eames winced. "Let me guess: not your favorite class."

"I hate it. Which is probably why I waited until eleven o'clock the night before it's due to start really working on it."

"How long had you been there when things got weird?"

"Maybe an hour, hour and a half. Long enough that I had my journals lined up and was getting into my writing groove. I write my first drafts longhand," she explained at Eames's puzzled look.

"Ok. And what happened then? Were you aware someone had come in?"

"Kind of. I had earphones on, so I don't know if they made any noise, but I didn't sense anything until they came up behind me. I noticed the shadow when they stood behind me and thought maybe Drew had come to surprise me or something. I think I started to say 'hi,' but I don't think I even got it out."

"Before he hit you, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"And you have no clue who it could be? You didn't catch even a glimpse?"

"I got the impression that it was a guy, from the size of the shadow when he stood behind me, but that's the best I can do."

Eames patted her hand. "That's plenty. You're a pretty good witness, Sara. And you know, I bet if you show the professor that lump, you can get out of handing in that paper tomorrow."

"Hey, good point," the girl said, perking up slightly.

"Why don't you let the EMTs do what they need to do now. Has someone called your parents?"

"Yeah. They're supposed to meet me at the hospital." She gave Eames a smile that hardly quivered at all - quite an improvement over ten minutes ago - and held out her hand to shake, saying sincerely, "Thank you. You're good at being sympathetic."

To her surprise, Eames found herself blushing. "Well, thanks," she said as she released Sara's hand. "Good luck on the paper."

"Thanks." One of the EMTs climbed into the box behind Sara and nodded at Eames before slamming the door shut.

Alex wandered back toward Deakins, not sure what to do with herself now. "You done?" he asked, spotting her when she was still ten feet away.

"Yeah. They wanted to get her checked out at the hospital."

"Playing it safe," he said with a nod. "Not a bad idea. Did you get anything useful out of her?"

She shrugged. "Depends on your definition of 'useful.' She was able to give me a pretty complete account of her time there, up to the moment she was knocked out, but she never got a look at the perp."

"Damn." He sighed. "Well, tell me what she did give you."

Eames recounted her conversation with the girl, stopping occasionally to answer a question from Deakins.

"I'm hung up on the different treatment of her stuff and the boy's," Deakins said when she was done. "That sticks out like a sore thumb."

"Agreed. But it almost seems too easy. Has Bobby reported back from upstairs?"

Deakins nodded. "He wasn't there long. Did the sniffing thing, picked up some papers, then asked CSU to keep in touch. Actually, it was kind of weird. Has he been feeling ok?"

She smothered a smile. "As far as I know, he's fine. Maybe he was just hoping to actually get some sleep tonight."

"Point taken. I think he's in his car, waiting for you. Tell him I said you guys can head out and I'll see you in . . ." He looked at his watch. ". . . six hours. Grab your sleep while you can, Detective."

"You don't have to tell me twice!" she said, turning on her heel and heading for the car where Bobby waited.


	16. Coming undone

The ride back to Goren's apartment was awkward, as she had known it would be. They were far-removed now from the almost-something moment they'd shared earlier, and she didn't know about him, but she was busily questioning herself. _Now how am I supposed to act?_ she thought. _Frankly, it's easier to be mad at him than to be like this, unsure of my position. Where are we with each other? Should I just wave goodbye when we get to his building and head for my car?_

Goren was feeling similarly turbulent. He watched Alex out of the corner of his eye as he drove. He could tell she was thinking hard, but he was afraid to speculate on what she was thinking of. Should he say something? They had been easy with each other on the ride out to the scene, but the wall had come back up, at least partially, since then. He was really starting to hate that damned immaterial wall.

As he turned into his parking garage, he felt his tension increase a notch. What to do now? Say "good night" and send her off? Maybe sweep her up in his arms and carry her to his bedroom?

Ok, maybe not the second one. She'd probably knee him.

He turned off the engine and just sat there, looking at her.

She knew he was looking, but she didn't think she wanted to know why. He was probably wondering why she hadn't gotten out already and made for her car.

"You're probably still . . . a little tipsy," he finally said slowly. "Uh, maybe you should hang out here a little while until you're definitely sober."

She wasn't feeling the least bit drunk, but she had to respect the man for his quick thinking. It was a convenient excuse for both of them. She nodded. "Yeah, maybe I should."

Bobby waited for her to look up so he could smile at her, but she kept her eyes down as she climbed out of the car. "So," he said as they waited for the elevator. "What do you think of this new twist to the case?"

She relaxed a little, back on familiar footing. "What I think is that I am _very _interested in what Andrew Kim will have to say tomorrow morning."

"Agreed," he said, following her into the elevator car. "Either he's not a very good crook, or someone's doing a good job of framing him."

"Mmm," Alex said, watching the numbers next to the door click from 2 to 3. Goren lived on the sixteenth floor. This was going to be a long ride.

"Something wrong?" he said, bending down to look at her face and casually putting an arm around her shoulders.

_Yeah, this elevator is way too small for the two of us_, her mind said. "Not at all," her mouth said.

"Because you look . . . uncomfortable. You sure nothing's wrong?"

"I'm fine." _I'm about three seconds from having a nervous breakdown trying to figure out where we're going with this, Bobby._

"Ok."

Finally, the numbers changed to 16 and the elevator let out a soft _ding_. Keeping his arm around her, Goren led her out of the elevator and toward his apartment door, still groping through his mind for what the appropriate behavior would be once he shut the door behind them.

Alex glanced at him as he flipped through his keys, looking for the one to unlock his door. He looked as tense as she felt. Or possibly angry. Bobby's angry face wasn't far from his tense face, she knew.

"Damn it," he muttered, wondering why even the key ring had it in for him tonight.

Eames smirked. He was tense. Definitely tense. "Let me," she said quietly, taking the keys out of his hands and digging through the bundle for the one he could never seem to find. "Here," she said a second later, holding out the brass-colored key to his door.

He took it, shaking his head. "How do you do that?"

She shrugged. "You've got your talents; I've got mine."

"And people say _I'm _the smart one," he said with a disbelieving chuckle as he swung the door open and ushered her inside.

"You are the smart one," she said. "I'm just the coherent one."

He dropped the keys on an endtable and turned back to her. "I can't argue with 'coherent,' but I maintain that your brain is as good as mine in almost every way. Except maybe when it comes to the 'spotting the most important thing in the room' thing. That, I'm better at."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. "God," she said, slumping against the wall tiredly after a few seconds of laughter exhausted her, "what a night."

"No kidding. I'd offer coffee, but given that sleep would be really helpful tonight . . ."

"No coffee," she agreed. "No tea, either. Nothing caffeinated."

"Yeah," he said with a nod, then fell silent.

Alex looked at him from her place against the wall, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

Nothing happened

After a few seconds, nothing continued to happen.

Then Bobby took a step toward her. "Eames?"

"Yeah."

He took another step. "You tired?"

"No, not really."

"Good." He put his hands on her shoulders, tracing her jaw with his thumbs, and closed the gap that remained between them. "We can always sleep later."

She was shocked to find that the weak-kneed sensation that almost knocked her down last night wasn't a one-time thing. If anything, it was stronger when his lips touched hers this time. She slid her hands under his jacket and around his waist, partly for support and partly because she just needed to touch him.

When she pulled back for a breath, he realized that unless he hunched over her, he couldn't see her face. This was the downside to wanting to kiss someone so much shorter than him, he thought: he never got to see her eyes until the last second. He let out a quiet laugh, telling himself that if having to stretch his neck was his biggest problem with this situation, he was doing fine.

She grabbed his tie, pulling more gently than she had earlier in the day. "What's so funny?"

He wrapped his arms around her, realizing that her body barely made a bump under the oversized shirt. "This standing-up thing . . ." he began, touching her cheek softly. "It's something we're going to have to work on."

Alex stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing.

"Hey, I'm serious," he said, moving his hand from her cheek to her chin and turning her head toward him. "It's going to take some planning."

"Planning," she echoed. "You're so methodical, Detective."

"Out of all the insults you've ever used on me," he said, then paused to kiss her again, "I think that one's the worst."

"Tonight's not the night for insults," she said softly. "That is, unless there's something bad about you I don't already know."

"Like I'm married?"

She pulled her arms out from under his coat and wrapped them around his neck, using her palms to pull his head down to her. "That," she whispered so close to his ear that her lips brushed it, "would definitely be a problem."

"Mmm." Taking advantage of his proximity to her face, he kissed her again. "You already know all my faults, and being married isn't one of them."

She lowered her arms, touching his sleeve. "Move."

"Excuse me?"

"I can't take your coat off when you have your arms around me."

He stood up straight and allowed her to divest him of the jacket, valiantly restraining himself from wincing when she tossed it on the floor. "Better?"

"Mm-hm." She looked up at him and grinned. "You're too damn tall."

"I thought we'd already established that." He tentatively reached for the button at the collar of her shirt, keeping his eyes on her face the whole time. When she made no protest, he slipped it out of the buttonhole, exposing more of her neck. "Maybe you're just too short."

She slid his tie out of its knot. "We could get a stack of telephone books for me to stand on." The tie joined his jacket on the floor. She looked at it for a second, then back up at him. "You're dying to run over there and hang your jacket and tie up, aren't you."

He cleared his throat. "Well, yes. But in this case, they can wait."

"Wow," she said with a giggle as she tugged his shirt out of his pants. "It must be serious if you're willing to let your clothes get wrinkled."

"It's made easier by the fact that I know yours will be getting wrinkled too," he said, nuzzling her neck. "Uh, I mean they might," he hastily corrected himself. He'd known a few women who would have slapped him for implying that he expected to get naked with them.

Luckily for him, Alex didn't appear to be one of them, because she just rolled her eyes. "You get to do the ironing tomorrow morning."

"My pleasure," he mumbled, concentrating on the next button on her shirt. "Why do women's buttons have to be on the wrong side?"

"Only you would come out with something like that when you have a girl pinned against a wall," she said affectionately, pushing his hand away and taking care of the button herself. "Besides, it's your buttons that are on the wrong side, not mine."

He looked down at his still-buttoned shirt and then up at her. "How do you know? You haven't tried them yet."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Help yourself," he said. As she leaned closer to do as he asked, he ran a hand over her hair. "I like the way your shampoo smells," he blurted.

She blinked and took one hand away from his buttons to grab a chunk of her hair, sniffing it. "It doesn't smell like anything right now."

"In the morning it does. It's still a little wet when you come into work."

She raised her eyebrows. "Have you been storing this stuff up until you got me in a situation where it wasn't inappropriate to say?"

"Um, pretty much," he admitted, ducking his head and letting his hands rest on her hips.

"You have such unplumbed depths," she said with a grin as she conquered the last button on his shirt and pulled the two sides apart. "Wow."

"What?" He looked down at her, confused.

Her face turned a dull red. "Uh, nothing. You're just, uh . . . you're in even better shape than I thought you were."

He had no response to that, but he was pretty sure his face was turning red enough to match hers. "Oh."

"It's a compliment, Bobby," she teased, resting her hands on his shoulders as she looked up at him. "Say 'thank you'."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said, moving her hands from his shoulders to his chest.

Bobby swallowed hard, suddenly struck by the fact that this situation bore a disturbing resemblance to some of the dreams he'd had about his partner. Except in those, she was the one half-naked, not him. Their current situation definitely needed to be remedied.

He attacked the buttons on her shirt with renewed gusto.

His progress on her buttons was accompanied by a surprisingly intense expression on his face. Her attention caught, Alex dropped her hands and just watched him.

"Hah," he mumbled as he slipped the last button out of its hole. A moment later, he realized that she was no longer touching him and jerked his head up to see what was wrong.

"Relax," she said, patting him on the cheek. "I was just enjoying your show."

He looked back down at her shirt. "This has to go."

"That can be arranged." She shrugged the shirt off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. "Problem solved."

"That's why I like you, Eames," he said jovially. "You're a problem solver."

"Your turn," she said, just shaking her head in response to his joke. "You're going to have to give up the shirt, even if it did cost you two hundred dollars."

This time, it was Bobby who threw an item of his clothing onto the floor. Alex rewarded him with a kiss. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he put his arms around her again, savoring the feel of her newly-bared skin. "Did you ever really think about how little you are? I'm serious," he added when she gave him a dirty look. "I know you're a mental giant, but you look so . . . I can see your ribs."

"I can see yours too," she shot back, poking him on one to make her point. "It happens when a person stretches. And I only look tiny compared to you. Compared to normal human beings, I'm just a little smaller than average."

"Tell me if I hurt you, ok?"

She put her arms around his waist and squeezed. "If you're worried about leaving more bruises, don't be; I'm tougher than I look. Most of me has a lot more padding than my wrists did. Besides, Deakins would probably be relieved to find out that I just have an over-eager nighttime visitor and I'm not being beaten." Seeing the genuine concern in his eyes, she sighed. "You won't hurt me, Bobby."

He wasn't totally convinced, but he nodded. "Ok." He looked down at her body pressed against his. "You're . . . uh . . . have I ever told you you're beautiful?"

"No, I don't believe you ever mentioned that particular sentiment at work. Luckily for our jobs."

He frowned, disappointed in himself. "Well, you are."

"Mmm," she said, more concerned with getting the rest of his clothes off.

Bobby, not to be deterred, pushed her back an inch. "It's a compliment, Alex," he mimicked with a grin. "Say 'thank you'."

"Thank you," she said with a roll of her eyes, reaching for his belt. "Now about these pants . . ."

Bobby stared at her. Had she just said what he thought he'd heard? "Uh . . ."

"Sorry," she said, picking up on his tone and moving her hands away. "Maybe I'm a little overeager."

That got a laugh out of him. She couldn't possibly have any stronger an urge to rip off his clothes than he had to rip off hers. He was apparently just better at hiding it. "We have all night."

"Well, actually," she said, checking her watch, which she hadn't gotten around to taking off, "we have . . . a little over two hours before we'd normally be waking up to get ready for work."

He'd lost track of the time, which, given the circumstances, he was perfectly willing to forgive himself for. "Damn."

"Being late to work tomorrow - today - wouldn't look good."

"We could probably still get away with it if we hadn't scheduled that interview so early."

"Since when do you like to play hooky, Bobby Goren?" she teased. "You're supposed to be the model detective."

"I think it started around the time my partner reached for my belt. Speaking of which," he said, looking down at her, "I think it's actually my turn to take off some of your clothes, not the other way around."

"Far be it from me to interfere with your plans," she said, moving away a fraction of an inch so he could get his hands between them.

Pulling off her belt, he dangled it in front of his face. "This thing goes around your whole waist?"

She considered his remark for a moment. "Was that an insult?"

"Of course not." He threw the belt toward the growing pile of clothes by his couch. "I was just thinking that I don't think it would go around one of my thighs, let alone my waist."

"Yeah, well, when I'm six-foot-four, we can compare belt sizes. Until then, you'll just have to accept it."

"Touchy, touchy."

She snorted. "You try spending almost twenty years surrounded by huge Irish guys who think it's cute to have a 'little girl cop' in their precinct. More than twenty years, if you count my family."

"Ok, you have a point there." He'd met her family; he still hadn't figured out how her father's height had been passed down to all of the children except her.

"So there," she said triumphantly, moving her hands slowly back to his belt. "Uh, is this ok?"

"Huh? Yeah." He stared down at her, hypnotized by what he was watching. He'd never dared to hope that Eames's hands would one day actually be in the vicinity of his belt.

She held up his belt, copying what he'd done with hers. "Hmm, I think I could wrap this around me twice. Oh well." The belt went flying, hitting the wall before dropping into the pile.

Bobby couldn't hold back the wince this time.

"Oops." Thinking fast, she hugged him again, this time letting her hands slide a little farther down his back. "Sor-"

Her apology was cut off as Bobby's weight hit her full-force, forcing her back against the wall as he kissed her. He got a hand behind her head just in time to keep it from hitting the wall with equal force.

Startled, she took a second to think about her position, then decided she had absolutely no problem with it as long as she didn't end up with a concussion. Returning her attention to the man currently devouring her neck, she groaned. "Bobby . . ."

He didn't seem to hear her; he was too intent on his exploration of her body. Alex stood, unresisting, fascinated by the sight of Goren completely absorbed in something that wasn't crime- or puzzle-related and equally fascinated by the fact that that "something" was her. Well, and the fact that he seemed to know how to handle her body as well as he knew how to handle her mind. That was rather enjoyable, too.

Finally, he raised his head, dragging his body up hers. "Two hours . . ." he groaned, burying his face in her shoulder.

"I know," she said, pulling his head up and kissing him. "We're going to be zombies tomorrow."

He looked like the thought hadn't occurred to him. "Oh, no sleep," he said after a few seconds. "Right."

She blinked. "What were _you _thinking?"

"I was, uh . . ." He shook his head. "Nothing. It sounds stupid."

"Uh-uh. You don't get to use the 'stupid' excuse after I just let you throw me up against a wall. I demand restitution."

He looked away from her. "Sorry about that. I was, uh . . ."

"I didn't say I didn't like it," she said pointedly. "Just that I demand payback."

He kissed her instead.

She kissed him back for a minute, then squirmed out from under him. "Don't try to change the subject."

He blinked, trying to slow his breathing. "Is that what I was doing?"

"Tell me what you were thinking."

"Honestly, Alex, it wasn't important. It's a moot point now anyway; we're down to less than an hour."

She checked her watched and realized that he was right. "God _damn _it!" She could feel it coming - she wouldn't be getting any sleep in the next hour, but judging by the look on Bobby's face, she wouldn't be getting laid, either. "Wait, let me guess what it was."

He shrugged. "Go ahead."

"You were angry that we didn't have a lot of time because you're a perfectionist and being rushed wasn't acceptable for your game plan for tonight."

He stared at her for a few seconds, then shook his head and turned away, running a hand through his hair. "I _really _don't know why people claim I'm the smart one."

She couldn't believe that after all this time, the guy's type-A personality was still standing in the way of her sex life. "You know, things don't have to be perfect all the time."

He dropped onto the couch and groaned. "This is not how I wanted it to work."

She watched him, holding back a groan of her own. _The very picture of the frustrated male animal_, she thought. Walking behind the couch, she leaned over him, resting her chin on his shoulder. "You're dead-set on this, aren't you."

"Yes. I'm sorry, Alex."

She sighed. When all else failed, accept reality. "It's ok. From what I hear, it'll be more uncomfortable for you than for me anyway. Oh, but Bobby?"

"Hmm?" he mumbled.

"You better not have any plans for tonight after work."

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A/N: Ok, so smut was never my strong suit. At least I try...


	17. Progress

Eames's cell phone rang just as she closed the door to her apartment behind her. Since she hadn't planned to spend the night at Goren's, she'd had to return home to shower and change before driving them to work, and Goren had decided to tag along in his own car.

Shooting him a look that warned him to be quiet, she opened the phone. "Hello?"

She needn't have worried about her partner; at the moment, he was too absorbed in examining her apartment with new eyes to cause trouble for her phone call. Her bedroom appeared to be getting a particularly thorough walk-through.

"Alex!" Deakins voice rang through the phone.

She groaned. "Whatever it is, we don't need to be in another half-hour."

"And good morning to you too, Detective. I'm not calling you out, so you can relax."

She did, rolling her shoulders to work out the tension that had worked its way into them. "Sorry. Long night."

She heard Goren snicker from the doorway of her bedroom and turned to gave him a look that threatened retribution; he shut his mouth, but couldn't wipe the smile off his face. He could obviously tell that she was speaking to Deakins, she thought, and somehow the idea of her complaining to their _boss _about the "long night" she'd had . . . well, she had to admit it was ironic.

"I know the feeling," Deakins was saying when she turned her attention back to the phone. "I was actually calling to find out what you guys want for breakfast, since I promised to buy."

Alex instinctively tensed, then told herself to relax. Deakins wasn't asking her for both orders because he suspected that Goren was hanging over her shoulder; it was just that she'd been appointed keeper of Goren's food preferences at some point a few years ago, mainly because he was usually either busy or unable to remember whenever such information was needed. "Coffee for both of us. Where are you getting the food?"

"Goldberg's," he said, naming a conveniently located bagel shop/deli.

"Scrambled egg on a plain bagel for me," she said, then paused, flipping through her mental files for what the deli served that would fit Goren's requirements. "And taylor ham and egg on an everything bagel for that guy that sits across from me." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Goren's eyebrows go up; he was always impressed when she managed to choose something he really would like to eat, even though she hadn't ever failed to do so.

"Got it. You should get him to write this all down, you know that? I can provide more productive things for you to memorize."

Shrugging her shoulder to dislodge Goren's smirking face, which was now resting on it, she laughed. "I don't doubt that you can. But at least if I forget his breakfast all I get is a dirty look."

"Good point. Well, I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing, Alex. See you in a little bit."

"Yep, bye." She slid the phone into her pocket, turned around, and gave Goren a playful slap in the head. "You're going to get me in trouble!"

He gave her his best look of startled innocence. "Well, I had to hear what he was saying, didn't I?"

"You know you didn't."

He shifted his eyes away from her. "Ok, maybe I didn't. But I wanted to."

"Can I trust you not to answer my phone while I jump in the shower?"

"Of course." He wanted to add that she should be more concerned about him climbing into the shower with her, but the clock was ticking and they were rapidly running out time to even jest. "Can I clean up in here, instead?"

She gave him a tired look. "Knock yourself out. Just don't put anything in the wrong place." With that, she turned and disappeared into the bathroom.

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Deakins had left the brown bag containing their food in the middle of Eames's desk, and they both made a beeline to it from the elevator. "Everything . . ." Eames said, pulling out a foil-wrapped circle marked with an E and handing it to him. "Plain for me. Here's your coffee," she added, putting it down in front of him. "Looks like he got juice, too. He must really need us in a good mood today. You want orange or grapefruit?"

"Mmlurgh," he mumbled around a mouthful of his sandwich, which he'd managed to unwrap and bite into in an impressively short time.

"Orange it is," she said with a nod, dropping the carton next to his coffee.

Knowing that Andrew Kim was due in half an hour, they gulped down their food as if they hadn't been fed in days. Eames muttered a curse as she burned her tongue on her coffee, then opened the folder she'd pulled in front of her and scanned the notes she'd made last night. "Maybe he'll be easy to crack," she said thoughtfully. "If he's wound as tight as you think . . ."

"It's a possibility."

"But you don't think it's likely?"

He looked up at her. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I'm having a hard time getting deep enough into his head."

She raised her eyebrows. "That's a new one, coming from you."

He shrugged. "It's been a long time since I was twenty-five."

"You and me both," she said with a quiet laugh, looking back down at her notes. "Hey, did you realize that 'Andrew' isn't his first name?

"What?" Goren reached over and snatched the folder out of her hands. "Longxing 'Andrew' Kim? How the hell did I miss that?"

"Probably because it's only printed this once, on his admission information. After that, everything in here uses 'Andrew' or 'Drew'."

Goren shook his head wonderingly. "Longxing . . ." he repeated thoughtfully to himself.

"Breakfast ok?" Deakins asked, approaching their desks. When both detectives nodded, he said, "Good. So what's the plan for the kid you're talking to today?"

Eames swallowed the last bite of her sandwich and said, "I'm starting off alone, probably do a bit of the good cop thing. He needs to account for a lot: his movements in the past few days, his grades, the condition of his office last night. Not to mention the big honkin' note Li wrote in his file saying he shouldn't be admitted."

"He might be having . . . financial problems," Goren added. "As far as we can tell, he's living entirely off of his fellowship."

"Which _isn't_ that substantial," Eames added.

"You want Carver watching?" the captain asked.

They exchanged a look. Finally, Eames nodded. "Yeah, if you can get him up here it's probably a good idea. But make sure you tell him we're not sure whether the guy's going to talk. I don't want him chewing me out if I don't get anything useful."

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"Hi Andrew," Eames said fifteen minutes later, entering the interrogation room in which the boy sat stiffly. "People call you Drew, right?"

"Uh, yeah."

She gave him a bright smile. "Well, thanks for being willing to talk to us. I hear you have a busy schedule."

Drew looked down at the table shyly. "It's not that bad."

_Great_, Eames thought as she sat down. _There's no way this kid's going to crack if he'll hardly open his mouth to say hello!_ "I've got a few things I need to ask you about. You understand that you're not under arrest and you can leave if you don't want to answer the questions, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good." She opened her folder and made a show of shuffling through the papers inside it. "Tell me about your relationship with Dr. Li. He was your advisor?"

"My advisor, yeah." His eyes flicked to the folder for a second, then returned to his hands.

"I know different professors have different advising styles," she pressed on. "Tell me about Dr. Li's. Was he very informal? Friendly? Strictly professional?"

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Behind the one-way, Ron Carver glanced at Deakins. "_This _is what you needed me up here for? Who is this kid?"

"This kid," Goren said impatiently, not moving his eyes from the window, "is our best suspect at the moment. Give her some time to work on him."

"Since when are youthe patient one, Bobby?" said Deakins.

Refusing to be goaded, Goren just waved a hand at the two men. "Be quiet and watch."

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"He was professional, I guess. I mean, he wasn't anybody's best friend." Before Eames could speak, he added, "I know everybody's probably told you how evil he was, but it wasn't always that he didn't like people. Sometimes he just didn't like dealing with them."

"I know someone like that," she said with a personable smile. "Comes off the wrong way sometimes."

"Exactly. I mean, once he got to know you . . . I know for a fact that he's had Alejandro, me, and Jim all over for dinner on different nights."

"He liked to play host?"

"Not really. I mean, he didn't act like a host, he just acted like he invited you over for dinner and asked you to please put the plates out on the table when you got there."

"Hmm." She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, noticing that Drew's eyes followed her movement for a second before he caught himself. "When was the last time you were over at his apartment?" she asked casually.

This was a sticky question; a lot depended on how much the suspect knew they knew. If things had gone as planned, he didn't know that the warfarin had been detected or that they were aware that the murder was actually begun a day earlier than it appeared. If that information had leaked, however, or if he was overly suspicious, it would be a simple matter for Drew to move his last visit back a few days or weeks.

He hesitated a second before answering; she got the feeling he was trying to read her face to find out what she knew. _Think again, kid. I've been doing this almost longer than you've been alive. You're not getting anything from me!_

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"Has he been kept up to date on the investigation?" Carver asked nervously. "If he says it was two weeks ago, you're going to have a hard time proving he's lying."

"As far as we know," Deakins told him, "no one at the school's aware of the results of the autopsy. Unless he's gotten information leaked to him, he should have no reason to lie. He'd think it was still safe to say that he was there the night 'before' the death."

"She's _good_," Goren mumbled under his breath.

Both men looked at him. "Pardon?" asked Carver.

Goren waved toward the mirror. "Look at her face. I haven't seen anyone do such a good 'dumb' look in a _long_ time. She's playing off the fact that he probably views women a lot like his advisor did: as hangers-on who aren't overly capable. She's getting him to stop considering her a threat."

"She is good," Deakins agreed. "You been giving her lessons? Usually you play the dumb one."

He shook his head. "It wouldn't work this time. It has to be a woman."

"This observation just got a lot more interesting," Carver said softly.

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"Maybe two or three nights before he died," Drew hedged. "To work on a re-write of one of the chapters of my dissertation." He looked back down at the table. "I can't believe he's just . . . dead."

"I wouldn't say 'just' dead," Eames said pointedly. "It wasn't a sudden heart attack or something."

He swallowed noticeably. "I know. That's what makes it even worse."

Her legs were beginning to cramp. She uncrossed them and leaned forward with a smile and a lighthearted wave of her hand. "Let's take a step away from the depressing stuff, ok? Why don't you tell me how you've been doing in your classes."

"Uh . . ." The kid had a terrible poker face; she could see the calculations going on in his head as he tried to decided how much of a lie he could get away with.

"Drew?" she prompted after a few seconds. "I don't need your exact GPA; just get me in the ballpark."

"A's," he said quickly.

Eames tried not to display the sly smile brewing on her lips. "All A's?"

"Well, one or two B's. Everyone has a bad class or two," he added defensively.

Time for a strategic decision. Did she call him out on his lie now, and put the interview into openly hostile territory? Or should she let it slide while she asked the rest of the questions they needed answered?

"Good for you," she said cheerfully, deciding that the kid would clam up if she put him in the hot seat right away. "Have you heard about what happened to your officemate last night?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I can't believe someone broke into our office. What could they want from there?"

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"Good to see he's still concerned about his ex," Deakins said with a chuckle. "Girlfriend hit in the head? Forget that, someone opened my filing cabinet!"

"I wonder if he's spoken to her since then," murmured Carver.

"Probably, uh, not," Goren said, trying to keep his eyes on the suspect's face as he spoke. "If he'd come in here later in the day, she would have called him by then. But she wouldn't have called him in the middle of the night, since his stuff wasn't damaged, and it's too early for a casual morning call."

"It always depresses me to see someone so young and clean-cut be such a cold fish," Deakins said. "Young punk in a leather jacket, fine - but a skinny Chinese kid who just wants people to believe he got straight A's?" He shook his head. "I shouldn't be surprised by anything anymore, but somehow I still am."

"Chinese . . ." Goren repeated.

Deakins blinked. "That's what he is, right?"

"A lot of Chinese students borrow English names when they come here to school, because English monolinguals find it difficult to pronounce their birth names," he replied as though something were dawning on him.

Deakins and Carver looked at each other. "Ok," Deakins said after a moment. "That's a useful factoid, but where are you going with it?"

"James Li was also Chinese," Goren said slowly. "He would have known . . ." Suddenly his head jerked up. "Stay here!" he ordered his startled companions as he ran out the door.

Carver blinked as the door swung shut behind the detective. "What was that about?"

Deakins, smiling, shrugged. "No idea, but he only makes a dramatic exit like that when he's got something big."

"Should we stop the interview until he gets back?"

"No," the captain said with a shake of his head as he turned back to the mirror. "The way she's going, she might get it out of him without needing whatever Goren just went for."

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"Sara's doing fine," Eames was saying behind the mirror. "We sent her to the hospital, just in case." Damn, how confrontational would she have to be before the guy would forget about the office and remember his friend?

"That's good. Have you figured out whether they took anything from the office? Maybe Sara's laptop?"

"Uh, no. No, as far as we could tell, nothing was missing. It did look like someone had rifled through your notes and assignments, though." _Any rational, anal-retentive student would jump on that_, she thought. _Let's see whether this guy does_.

His eyes widened slightly, then returned to normal. "But they didn't take anything, right?"

"Right. Everything's still there." She glanced down at her folder, noting that she had one more big question to ask him before she could really pounce. "Are students allowed to view their grades and records in your department? The paper kind, not the the internet kind."

Drew looked confused. "Uh, I guess probably we could. I've never checked."

"So if there's anything other than the basic grades and transcripts in your file, you're unaware of it?"

"I suppose I am."

Eames allowed her attack smile to appear. "So then you didn't know about this?" she asked, sliding a photocopy of Li's defamatory letter across the table.

He read it, his eyes growing progressively wider. "That son of a . . ." He looked up at her, expression resolute. "No, Detective, I didn't know about that. I think I'm glad I didn't know."

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. But here's the thing, Drew," she said smoothly, not giving him time to regroup. "We've looked at your grades, too. And they're not 'mostly A's' like you just told me. Especially in Dr. Li's classes."

Before Andrew could think of an explanation for that, there was a quick knock on the door as it was pulled open. Goren appeared in the doorway.

She looked up at him, noticing immediately that he was shifting his weight from side to side. He was eager to get in on the questioning, then; he must have figured out something important. "You mind?" he said out of habit as he approached the table.

Eames waved a hand toward the empty chair and nodded.

All business now, Goren sat down and opened his portfolio. "Hi, Drew."

"Hi." The student was watching Goren warily; he was smart enough to know that this interruption meant that something had probably changed.

"Uh, 'Drew' . . ." Goren went on, hardly pausing to hear the greeting. "That's not actually your real name, right?" he asked, using the overly-inquisitive tone that often helped him disarm suspects. "It's just the name you adopted when you started school."

Andrew, looking unhappy with this line of questioning, mumbled, "Yeah."

"Your real name is . . . Longxing," Goren said, pretending to read it off a page in his portfolio. "Did I pronounce that right?"

"Close enough."

Goren grinned widely. "Great, so now we've been properly introduced. Detective Eames," he said grandly, turning to her, "I'd like you to meet Longxing Kim."

"A pleasure," Eames said with a poker face, concealing the fact that she was highly entertained by this turn of events.

"But I should call you Drew, right?" Goren asked, snapping his head around to look back at their suspect.

"Yes. It's what everyone calls me."

This was too easy, Goren thought. The kid was playing right into his hands. "Everyone? You don't actually mean . . . _everyone_, right? I mean, since Dr. Li spoke the same dialect of Chinese as you . . ." He let his voice trail off as he shrugged. "He'd probably call you by your real name, wouldn't he?"

Andrew's eyes moved to Eames as though begging her to get this weird guy off his back. She gave him a bright smile and tried to look oblivious.

"He called me both," the boy finally said. "Drew if there were any people around who called me that. Sometimes Longxing when it was just us."

"That's interesting," Goren said. Then, in an abrupt change of subject, he leaned forward and said casually, "Hey, I bet you spent a lot of time with him. I mean, since he was your advisor and all. Did you ever work as a research assistant for Dr. Li?"

"Not officially, but I helped him occasionally."

"Good! That's good." Goren slipped Li's date book from underneath his portfolio and slid it halfway across the table, so he and the suspect could both see it. Eames noticed that the top section of the page it was open to, which should have showed the date and month, had been mysteriously crumpled and folded so that the information was obscured. "So maybe you can help me out here. You know, we're trying to figure out his last day was like, but his handwriting, well . . ." He chuckled, as if saying, _well, you understand._ "We can't figure the stuff out. Like here," he went on, pointing to the morning of what he knew was the day before Li's body was found. "What does this say? Sec . . . mee . . . meet?" he sounded out haltingly before looking up at Andrew.

The boy leaned forward, scanning the writing. "Meet with secretary," he read smoothly. At Goren's raised eyebrows, he offered a small smile. "It takes a while to get used to, but it makes sense once you know how he wrote."

Goren turned the book back toward himself. "That's amazing. Isn't that amazing, Eames?"

She leaned over and coolly studied the book. "Personally, I'd be more impressed if he could read that second one, the one by eight p.m. Looks more complicated."

Goren pushed the book back to Andrew and raised his eyebrows. "You're not gonna turn down an easy opportunity to impress a woman like her, are you?"

Feeling much more relaxed now that the atmosphere was friendly and the questions weren't probing, Andrew looked at the line Eames had indicated. "He used a lot of random abbreviations. This one . . . hmm."

Eames crossed her arms and gave Goren a haughty look. "See, I told you he wouldn't be able to do that one."

"No, I can figure it out. Give me a second." In part of his mind, Andrew knew that these cops were being entirely too nice, and that the female one had to know exactly how attractive she looked to him, but he still couldn't see the harm in impressing her just a little. "R-w-w-slash-ldk-colon-c2. Let's see . . . 'rww-slash' is probably 're-write with.' Like what he was doing with me. So if that's 're-write' . . ." He paused. " 'ldk' must be me. When's this from?"

Goren tipped his head to the side and pretended to be studying the page. "I'm not sure, actually. They _were_ organized by date, but I kind of, uh . . . I kind of dropped the pages earlier and I . . . I don't know if I put everything back in the right place."

"Oh," Andrew said, seeming to buy Goren's "bumbling detective" act. "Ok, well, we've got 're-write with Longxing Drew Kim.' The 'colon-two' would have to be the chapter."

At the puzzled looks the detectives threw him, he explained, "It means the re-write was on chapter two of my dissertation. Which means it was recent . . . I've only done three of those so far."

"Ok," Goren said, moving a finger over the page. "So this, here," he said, pointing to the R, "this is is an 'r'? Yeah, I can see it now. Up leg, loop, down leg. You're right." He made a show of slumping back in his chair. "You're something else, Drew. You should be a pharmacist, you'd be able to read all the doctors' writing."

Andrew turned slightly red and stared at his hands. "Was that all you needed me here for?"

Eames met Goren's eyes over the suspect's bowed head. With an almost imperceptible shake of her head, she communicated that she didn't think they should show their hand yet.

Goren nodded back, then looked down at Andrew. "For now, yeah. But you know, we might need you again for this handwriting thing. Could we have a copy of your schedule so we know when we can call you?"

"Sure," Andrew said, eager to escape the room. "Got a piece of scrap paper?"

Eames tore a sheet of paper off her notepad and slid it over to him.

He scribbled down a list of his classes, added what looked like his phone number, and handed it back to her with a smile.

"Thanks," she said dryly as she folded the paper and slipped it into her pocket. "We're done now, you can go whenever you're ready."

She didn't have to ask twice; within five seconds Andrew was out of his chair and through the door, into the arms of the uniform waiting to escort him out of the building.

As the young man swaggered away, obviously proud of having survived an interview with the police, Deakins and Carver made their way into the interview room.

"Hey, Alex," Deakins said with a grin. "When was the last time you got a guy's number that quick?"

She smiled sweetly at the three men. "I have all yours, don't I?"

Carver snickered, Deakins gave her a dirty look, and Goren looked like he was stifling a burst of laughter. Turning away from them, she wiggled her fingers in a girlish wave. "So, boys . . . what's for lunch?"


	18. Back to the scene of the crime

"I'm more sure than ever that this kid's hiding something," Eames said, picking up a piece of melted cheese that had fallen off her pizza and dropping it into her mouth. "But what do we actually have on him?"

"Not enough," Deakins, who was leaning against the side of her desk, said with a sigh. "You guys know I respect your hunches, but if we're going to nail this guy, we're going to need something more concrete. So far all you've established for sure is that Li didn't seem to like Kim - not necessarily vice versa - and that Kim was scheduled to visit the night Li would have been poisoned."

"Which he may or may not have actually done," Goren said around a mouthful of pepperoni. "Without any physical evidence from the scene . . ."

"It's going to be hard as hell to prove he actually went," finished Eames.

Deakins made a negative-looking gesture with his pizza slice. "So much for opportunity. That means that out of the means-motive-opportunity trinity, we're zero for three when it comes to linking them to Andrew Kim. Maybe .5 for three if we're optimistic."

"Don't count us out yet, Captain," said Goren. "We're far from having exhausted our avenues of investigation, especially for the means."

"He's right," Eames said. Glancing at the two men and noticing that they were both looking elsewhere, she reached out and snagged the last slice in the box.

"What are you going to do, survey all the grocery stores in Manhattan for a list of everyone who bought rat poison? Good luck!"

She swallowed hastily. "Two points: first, if we can find traces of the poison - even dust - at the scene or in Kim's apartment, we can probably narrow down the brand, which would made a store canvass much more feasible. Second . . ." She paused. "You remember the Sylvia Moon case?"

"Of course."

"Well, rodenticides are usually dyed green, and they come in pellet form."

Goren gave her an impressed look, not having realized she'd done the research already. "Which means that he couldn't have just been slipped a pill; it would have had to be ground and sprinkled on his food or something."

"Mortar and pestle, anyone?" Eames said with a grin.

"I bet if you two ask Carver nicely, he can finagle you a warrant to find out."

"Mmm," Goren said, handing Eames a piece of crust he didn't want, "if 'nicely' is a requirement, maybe Alex should do it."

She accepted the crust and took a bite, then sighed dramatically. "Oh, Bobby . . . Where would you be without my ability to play nice?"

"Probably back in Narcotics," Deakins joked, "because I'd have been forced to boot him out of here after he'd scared away his twentieth partner."

"Probably," Goren agreed good-naturedly. "But I've got Eames and I'm keeping her, so I'll be staying here."

She faked a speculative look. "Maybe I should ask for a raise . . ."

"Don't push your luck, Detective." Deakins stood up and brushed some crumbs off of his suit. "You guys know the drill; keep me posted."

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"You're keeping me?" she murmured as they walked into the crime scene later that day. "How generous of you."

He stiffened for a moment as he tried to interpret her tone, then noticed the amusement in her eyes and relaxed. "Well, Deakins had a point. I wouldn't have a job if you weren't here . . ."

She snorted. "Somehow I don't believe that. You just like not having to make the effort to be a people person."

He waved to the uniform who was guarding the door, who nodded and handed him the key. "I couldn't be a people person if I tried."

"Hah! You say that like I haven't seen you make all sorts of people do whatever you want just by smiling at them."

He tried to hide his smile. "And yet I can never seem to get you to do what I want."

"Damn right you can't."

They stopped in the foyer of the apartment, surveying the black-dusted surfaces, where fingerprint powder still lingered, and freshly vacuumed carpets. Eames shook her head. "Those CSU guys are welcome to do my floors any day, but I'm keeping them away from my kitchen counter."

Goren grunted noncommittally and wandered off toward the kitchen.

"How much of a cleaner was this guy?" she said, turning and walking toward the bathroom. "You think he washed the dinner dishes?"

"Hopfully not," he called from the threshold of the kitchen. "But I'm about to find out." All it took was two more steps in the direction of the sink to resolve the issue: both basins of the sink were empty. "Damn!" He double-checked, opening the cabinets to make sure the dishes had been put away and not stolen.

Attempting to make her way around the bathroom without getting fingerprint powder, which covered every surface in the room even more extensively that it did in other areas of the house, all over her khaki pants, she called back, "Is that a no?" To herself, she muttered, "We should make these guys take pay cuts for every pound of powder they waste."

"Dishes are all clean and stacked."

There went their best chance at finding residual poison, she thought with a sigh as she used one gloved finger to pull open the medicine cabinet. Its contents matched what his medical records had shown: the guy didn't take anything stronger than aspirin. The cabinet held a basic toothbrush and toothpaste, as well as a bottle of peroxide, one of aspirin, and a box of OTC allergy pills. She closed the medicine cabinet and looked around the room, noticing that there were drawers built into the vanity.

After a few minutes of searching the rest of the cabinetry and drawers, she'd turned up a box of Q-tips, a small bottle of Old Spice, and an electric razor that didn't look like it had gotten much use. She checked the labels of the cleaning products under the sink for any ingredients resembling warfarin or its variants, but the most dangerous thing to be found was a leaky bottle of bleach standing next to a bottle of ammonia. Ok, so the guy wasn't terribly well-versed in household safety, but it still didn't tell her anything about his death.

"Eames?" Goren called as he pulled his head out of the large cabinet under the kitchen sink and stood up. "You find anything?" He started pulling out the shallower drawers one at a time, hoping to find something - anything - that showed a hint of green.

"I got squat," she replied from the kitchen doorway, leaning against one side of it. "Except for finding out that if he hadn't been murdered, he might have managed to gas himself to death by accident one day."

"Yeah, well . . ." He pulled out another drawer, rummaged through it, pushed it shut again. "I'm doing even worse than you."

"What've you already checked?" she asked, stepping into the room and surveying the numerous cabinets.

"The cabinets closest to the sink . . . uh, those two drawers," he said, pointing to each object as he named it, "the cabinet under the sink . . ."

"You didn't check those yet?" she asked, pointing to a row of square cabinets that sat a little higher than Goren's eye-level.

"No. Want me to?"

"Yeah. You check those, I'll do the lower stuff."

They worked in silence for a few minutes before Goren pulled open the last cabinet, paused, and said, "Eames . . ."

"What?"

"Coffee bean grinder," he said, lifting out the item in question, which looked like a miniaturized food processor, and setting it on the counter.

She looked at it for a second. "You know, most grinders of that type things aren't really washable. You kind of have to wipe it out by hand."

His eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch. "And when you're hand-washing something with a blade, it's nearly impossible to not miss a spot or two."

"Right, because you don't want to cut yourself . . ." She looked up at Goren. "Got an evidence bag?"

He pulled one out of his pocket and shook it open.

"We're pretty sure it was given to him in some kind of food or drink, right?" she asked, looking thoughtful.

"Um, yeah."

She nodded. "Well, I think we've pretty much covered the kitchen. What say we give the non-food-related rooms just a once-over, at least for now?"

He looked up from the bag, which he was struggling to close over the oddly-shaped grinder. "You in a hurry or something?"

"I, uh . . ." Strangely reluctant to be the one to bring up what she'd suggested last night that they do tonight, she searched her mind for a plausible response. "My pants are already ruined. I don't want to have to write off my shirt, too."

He took a closer look, doing a slow circle around her. "Huh. Do you realize you've got black handprints on your butt?"

"Like I said," she managed through gritted teeth, "my pants are ruined."

"Oh." Having said his piece, he turned and walked toward the bedroom, adding over his shoulder, "They're not ruined. I can get those marks out. Don't worry about it."

Why did he have to be so damn _literal_? Twisting the upper half of her body, she brushed at the marks he'd pointed out. With a sigh, she turned to the living room and started examining Li's entertainment center and sofa.

"Eames?" he said from the doorway ten minutes later. "Find anything?"

"Nope. You?"

"Nothing we didn't already find last time. Ready to go?"

"Yeah." She gave the marks on her behind another half-hearted swipe as she stood up from her crouched position.

"Don't," he said, grabbing her hand.

"Huh?" What did he think she was doing, carrying evidence home on her butt? "I'm just trying to get rid of those marks you pointed out."

"Right," he said, unperturbed. "Don't."

She took her hand back and have him a wary look. "Should I ask why?"

He turned his head slightly so she couldn't read his expression. "It's just that if you tell Deakins that your pants are ruined, and show him the marks, he'll probably tell you to just go home early after we take this grinder to the lab. So that you don't have to walk around One PP looking dirty, I mean."

She looked at him for a long second, then just shook her head. "Come on, let's go." Without waiting for him to follow, she headed out of the apartment.

Five minutes later, as they were settling into the car, she looked over at him. "You want to tell me why I should lie about my pants just to get out of work an hour early?"

He cleared his throat and looked out the window. "I just thought you might like the time off."

"What's gotten into you lately, Bobby? Since when do you condone taking time off for things other than death or the plague?"

Laying his head back against the headrest and looking at the car's ceiling, he said quietly, "If Deakins sends you home early, then there's not really much point in me staying, either. Especially with only a little over an hour of the work day left."

She glanced at him. "So you want me to ditch . . . so you can ditch without feeling guilty?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of us . . . ditching . . . together."

She moved her eyes to the road and determinedly kept them there. "Us?"

"Well you said . . ." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Last night you said that, uh . . ." He stopped and cleared his throat again.

His uneasiness about this topic could only mean one thing. "Go on," Alex said, intrigued by this show of bashfulness now that she could guess his motives. "I said what?"

"Well you didn't _say_, I guess. It's more like you implied . . ."

"Bobby, don't make me lean over there and throttle you, because then I'll crash the car and I don't want to have to explain that to Deakins."

"You implied that you wanted to, uh, see me after work. So I just thought that maybe the pants thing would buy us a little time . . ."

She grinned as she pulled into the One PP lot. "You're just trying to buy _yourself_ more time so you can do the whole perfectionist, obsessive thing," she teased.

Instead of mumbling something nonsensical, as he would normally do, he turned and looked at her, asking, "Are you going to tell me whether I drew the right inference or not?"

"Oh, come on. You have a ridiculously high IQ and now you're going to pretend you're clueless?"

"If you hadn't noticed," he said, "when it comes to you I generally _am _clueless."


	19. A wrench in the works

He appeared at her apartment door an hour after leaving work. As she opened it to allow him in, she noticed that he had changed out of his suit and into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. His hair was slightly mussed, probably from pulling the shirt over his head. She'd always loved to see him dressed so casually, and she knew that tonight it was a sign that he didn't intend the evening to be about business.

Realizing that she'd been staring, she opened the door wider and stepped back, making room for him to pass. "Sorry. Daydreaming."

"Oh." He deliberately angled his path so that he had to brush past her to walk in. He may not have had any idea what to say, but he was very aware of what he wanted to do.

She shut the door behind him, resisting the instinct to step back and put space between them. "So . . . uh, you want dinner?"

"Dinner . . ." he repeated contemplatively. "You look pretty, Alex."

She blinked, trying to figure out the connection between dinner and her appearance. Finding none, she looked down at herself; she didn't look like anything special as far as she could tell. Jeans, bare feet, and an oversized t-shirt she'd knotted at the small of her back to make it fit didn't exactly constitute a ravishing outfit. "Um, thanks," she said finally with a mental shrug. "But don't change the subject."

"What was the subject?" He was fascinated with the way she was wearing her t-shirt. The gathering in the back had pulled the front tight against her, so that her form was clearly outlined; the knot itself sat just above the waistband of her pants, allowing tempting glimpses of her skin to show every now and then when it rode up.

"Dinner, Bobby." Two could play at this game, she thought, taking a better look at the way his jeans fit him. If he got to check her out, then she got to check _him_ out.

"Oh, right." He pulled his eyes away from her shirt and settled them on her face. "Food. Um . . ." He wasn't particularly hungry, and even if he had been, he was way too interested in the woman in front of him to care about his stomach. "I guess if you're hungry," he said with reluctance, lowering his eyes and thinking, _You're talking about food, while I'm trying not to throw you over my shoulder and haul you into the bedroom?_

"I'm not really hungry, actually."

His eyes flew back to her face, trying to see if there was a hint in that statement. "Me either."

They just looked at each other for a second, each unsure of the other's state of mind.

Finally, Alex ran out of patience and leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You going to make me do all the work tonight?"

His face broke into a smile as he slid his arms around her waist, holding her tightly. He had to fight back a shudder when his fingers touched the bare skin of her lower back. "I might."

She leaned her head back so she could look him in the face and kissed the side of his jaw playfully. "Oh? Let me know when you decide, ok?" With that, she slipped out of his arms walked into the kitchen. Not that she had anything to do in there, but it was fun to tease him . . .

One of his arms wrapped around her from behind. "I decided," he growled into her ear. "Partners should share the workload, don't you think?" He took a step back, out of the kitchen, pulling her along with the arm he kept around her. "It's only fair."

"Fair, hmm," she said, turning around to face him again. "Well, I'm all for fair play."

He leaned down to finally kiss her. "You want to play, huh?" He could feel her smile against his mouth.

After a few seconds, she pulled back and, running her fingers through the hair at the back of his head, said, "As long as I'm one whole team and you're the other."

He shivered at the light touch of her fingers. "That can be arranged." Enjoying this playful flirting, he grinned and added, "You want to be shirts or skins?"

"Now there's a question I don't answer very often." Moving her arms from his neck to his waist, she hugged him tightly, laying her head against his chest. "Age before beauty, Goren. Lose your shirt."

"Giving orders now, are we?" He leaned his head down until his temple met hers. "Maybe I'm having second thoughts about the whole kissing-a-cop thing."

"I've got a pair of handcuffs around here somewhere . . ." she said thoughtfully. "Don't make me use them. Your shirt," she demanded, taking a step back, holding out a hand, and waiting.

"Mmm." He'd think about the handcuffs later. Keeping his eyes on her, he untucked his shirt and pulled it off quickly, dropping it into her hand. "I think it's very possible that . . ." He drew in a breath when her small hand touched his bare skin. ". . . you're the bossiest woman I've ever had the hots for."

Running her hands up his chest, she gave him a playful leer. "You got a problem with that?"

He shook his head and slowly slid his hand up the back of her shirt. "Not a bit. Everyone knows you wear the pants in our partnership anyway."

It was Alex's turn to shiver at the touch of his hand. "As long as you don't start coming to work in a dress . . ." She stopped, surprised, when his wandering hand smoothly unhooked her bra. "Where'd you learn to do that? I can't even take my own bra off one-handed."

"Natural talent," he mumbled into her hair as he traced a finger down her spine.

"Sure it is." Pushing him back a few inches so he didn't get hit by a flying elbow, she drew her arms into her shirt and slipped the bra off. She pulled it out from under her shirt, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of her belly, and draped it over his shoulder with a smirk. "What was that about me wearing the pants?"

"Now _that_," he said, pulling her back to him and moving his hand from her back to her side, "I could never figure out how to do."

"I don't think it's a skill you'll ever personally need, Bobby." She tugged on his arm, pulling him toward the couch. "Let's sit down; I'm getting a crick in my neck looking up at you."

He obediently followed her. "I told you we'd have to work on the standing up thing."

She gave him a shove backwards onto the couch. He landed on his back, lengthwise, narrowly missing knocking his head into the arm on one end. "I think between the two of us we'd figure it out pretty quickly," she said as she lowered herself onto the couch more decorously.

He didn't bother to retort, only reached out and pulled her onto his lap. "Ok," he said softly, now able to look into her eyes while he spoke, "I think sitting down works for me too."

She turned herself around so that she was straddling his lap instead of sitting on it. "Hel-_lo_," she murmured with a raised eyebrow as she settled down. She was amused to see Bobby blush bright red.

"Stop that," he muttered, but with no real heat behind the words.

"Stop what?" she teased, adjusting her weight. "This?"

His only response was a groan as he moved his lips to her neck.

They both froze, wide-eyed, when her apartment buzzer sounded.

"You're the only company I was expecting," she said, forcing herself to pull away.

"So don't answer it," he said, pulling aside the collar of her shirt and kissing the newly-exposed skin.

"It might be a neighbor. I have to check." Using his chest to lever herself up, she handed him his shirt. "Put this back on. I don't want you giving the eighty year-old spinster next door a coronary."

Realizing that he couldn't dissuade her, he sighed and did as she asked, then wandered into her bedroom for good measure.

She checked the peephole: it definitely wasn't her eighty year-old neighbor. No, it was Mike Logan standing outside her door. She tried not to groan as she opened the door a few inches. "What do you want?"

"Now, is that any way to greet a friend, Alex?"

"I'm busy," she said tightly, wishing she could slam the door in his face in good conscience.

"I can see that." At her questioning look, he added, "Your face is red and you're breathing hard."

Setting aside mortification for the moment, she glared at him. "Then why are you still here?"

He grinned deviously. "Got a present for you."

"A present?" she asked, confused. "Why?"

He held out a gold-wrapped box that obviously contained chocolates. It had a small card taped to the top. "Would you believe me if I said it's because I'm madly in love with you?"

"No." She looked down at the box, behind her into the apartment, then back at him. "You just think it's funny to make Bobby think you're chasing me. Jerk."

"Now, why would I want to make him think that?"

Her response was cut off by a voice calling, "Alex!" from the bedroom.

She dropped her head into the door with a solid _thunk_.

Logan's eyebrows were somewhere around his hairline. "You know," he said coyly, "that sounded like a man's voice. Actually, it sounded kind of familiar . . ."

"I'm going to kill you," she said through gritted teeth, "the second I get a chance."

He gave her one last smirk. "Now, how would that look to IAB? Take the candy, Alex," he said, shoving it into her hands. "I'll see you tomorrow." With that, he turned and retreated down the hallway, leaving Alex to gape at his back.

"Alex," Bobby said again as he walked into the room after he heard the door close. "Neighbor?"

"Um . . ." _Shit. Damn it. Shit! I'm going to kill Mike, slowly and painfully_! "Yeah. Mrs. Williams comes over for tea sometimes."

"She brought you something?" he said, gesturing to the box she'd forgotten she held in her hands.

"Yeah . . ." If she could get rid of the card, she could hand him the box and not have to worry. She tried to think of a non-obvious way to remove it.

"What's on the card?" Looking like a kid on Christmas, he reached out and grabbed the box from her before she could do anything. "She got a grandson she wants you to . . ." Both his voice and his smile faded as he read the card. "Logan?" he finally said tightly.

"Don't look at me like that. I have no idea why he brought them," she said indignantly, snatching the box back.

"Gee, I don't know, Alex. Could it be because he wants to _date you_?" He turned around, running a hand through his hair. "Why did you just lie to me about who was at the door?"

She sighed. "Because I knew if I told the truth you'd be pissed, exactly like you are now. It's just a box of chocolates, for god's sake. He knows I'm not interested in him."

"Oh, does he? And that's why he bought you a present?"

She was getting irritated now. Jealousy was emphatically _not_ what she had expected from cool, collected Detective Goren; she thought they'd resolved that issue days ago. "No, he brought me the damn present because he knew it would piss you off!"

"I'm not sure I believe that, Alex," he said with a quiet sigh. "I think . . . I think I should go."

"What? Bobby!" She stared at him. "You seriously think he's competition? Um, whose lap was I on five minutes ago? Not his!"

He just shook his head slowly. "Good night."

"Bobby!" she managed, feeling like she was glued to the floor. "You can't . . .!"

"Good night," he said again, more quietly, just before he pulled the door shut behind him.

Alex hurled a shoe at the closed door.

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A/N: Oh come on, there's so much case left, I can't resolve all the tension between them yet! It wouldn't be any fun!

A/N 2: For anyone who doesn't know, "shirts and skins" refers to how guys (or intrepid girls, I suppose) often mark teams in pick-up basketball (maybe other sports?) games. The "shirts" keep their shirts, whatever they happen to have on, on. The "skins" go shirtless. That way you can quickly tell which team a guy is on even without uniforms.


	20. Blowup

A/N: Writing this chapter gave me serious deja vu, but I couldn't figure out if I've written something like this before or if it's just been circling my head so long that I got used to it. So, uh...if anyone notices a similarity between this scene and one of my other stories, please tell me so I can change it and avoid looking like even more of an idiot...

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She was up, dressed, and drinking her coffee the next morning before she realized that it was her scheduled day off. Twelve hours ago, she'd been hoping to spend today in bed with Bobby, she thought as she stripped off the suit she'd donned only minutes earlier. Too bad there wasn't a chance in hell of that happening now. She poured the rest of her coffee down the drain and headed back to bed.

She'd didn't plan to drag her ass out of bed again until tomorrow morning unless the building caught fire. Maybe not even then.

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Bobby had slapped the snooze button on his alarm twice before he remembered that he didn't need to get up anyway. Today was his and Alex's day off.

Not that they'd be spending it together, after last night's farce. He couldn't decide whether he was angry because she'd lied to him or depressed because he'd ruined a promising relationship because of what he knew was essentially his own insecurity.

He turned his head to look at his phone. Alex was probably up by now, but the phone hadn't rung. She wasn't going to call, he told himself; he'd rejected not only her affection but her integrity.

He'd be lucky if she ever spoke to him again outside of work.

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Mike Logan was experiencing a feeling he thought he'd banished from his life years ago: guilt over having damaged someone else's life. He'd intended the chocolates to be a friendly prank; he knew she loved chocolate, and he knew that Goren would be insatiably curious about who besides him was lusting after Alex.

What he had _not _expected was to find Goren already in Alex's apartment, obviously either acting on that lust or about to do so.

Goren had never been overtly antagonistic to him, but it was common knowledge in the Major Case squad room that Bobby Goren was protective of his partner. The general feeling was that Goren knew how important she was to his success, and thus had no intention of having her hurt or driven away; however, Mike now knew, better than he wanted to, that there was more to it.

And that was dangerous to him. Dangerous because Goren could easily make Logan's position in Major Case unbearable. Could probably make Logan's position disappear completely, if he decided to wield the power he didn't seem to know he had. Also dangerous because Goren was a strong influence on Alex and could try equally hard to rob Logan of her friendship, which he was really beginning to enjoy.

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She was lying in bed with her head buried in the pillow, wondering why she couldn't get back to sleep, when her phone rang. She turned over and glared at it, fighting the urge to unplug it and launch it across the room. It kept ringing, though, and finally she snatched up the receiver. "Eames."

"Alex, hi."

She shot up to a sitting position. "You've got a goddamn lot of nerve calling me after last night, Logan."

He swallowed. "Yeah, well, about that . . . I didn't know he was there with you. If I had, I would have dropped it on your desk anonymously today or something."

"Fat lot of good that does me now."

He sighed. "I know. Honestly, I'm sorry. But . . . I'm calling with good news," he said hopefully.

If she hadn't already been suspicious, she was now. "Oh? And and what's that?"

"Your lab report came in. Want to hear what they found?"

"Yes!" she nearly shouted, momentarily forgetting her desire to murder him.

He chuckled. "I thought so. I'll skip past the mass spec stuff and the Greek symbols. Let's see . . ." She could hear him flipping pages. "Here we go. 'Findings'," he read. "Number one: 'Traces of coffee bean dust, Sumatran blend.' Number two, 'A quantity of epithelials. All sequenceable cells had genetic fingerprints that matched James Li's.' Bummer on that one," he opined. "Number three: 'Dehydrated flecks of carrot.' Who the hell puts carrot in a coffee grinder, anyway?"

"No idea," she said impatiently. "Is that it?"

"Nope, one more. Does the chemical formula 'C(31)H(23)BrO(3)' mean anything to you?"

"Not a thing. What is it?"

"Don't know. It says to turn to the attached sheet. Hold on . . . ok, how about, uh, 'bromo-biphenyl-tetra-hydro-napthalenyl-hydroxy-benzopyran'?"

"Is that English? You're talking to me, Mike, not my genius partner. They must have put it in a readable form somewhere."

"Yeah, I'm looking. Ok, bottom of the page. How about 'brodifacoum'?"

She almost dropped the phone. "Are you sure that's what it says? Brodifacoum?"

"Pretty sure. But considering it sounds to me like it should be the name of a disease, you might not want to go by what I say."

"Good plan."

"Look, it's almost lunchtime. Why don't I take my hour and bring you the report and some takeout?"

She sighed. "Can I get the report without getting stuck with you?"

"Nope. Either you take the deal or you're gonna have to drag your butt down to One PP to get the report."

"Oh, for god's sake!"

"Take it or leave it, Alex."

"Fine. I'll take it, but don't expect me to be a charming companion."

"Understood. I'll see you in about half an hour."

"Sure. Bye." She hung up, not caring if he had more to say, and groaned loudly. "All I want is one day - _one _stinking day - to laze around in bed and feel sorry for myself. Why am I cursed?" she ranted to her empty apartment. "Ugh, now I have to find clothes."

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When the knock sounded on her door forty minutes later, she shoved her feet into a pair of slippers and reluctantly walked to the door to let him in.

Logan stared at her for a second before saying, "What the hell are you wearing?"

"They're called pajamas," she said, looking down at her old shorts and t-shirt. "I decided you don't merit me actually getting cleaned up."

"Whatever you say." He handed her two Chinese take-out cartons. "Lunch, madam."

"Ok," she sighed, stepping back. "Come in."

He did, stepping past her and into her apartment. "Nice place."

"The dent in the front door's your fault," she said shortly, snatching the lab report from his hand.

He glanced at the door, verifying that there was, indeed, a crescent-shaped indentation in it. "I've never even been here before. How can it be my fault?"

"I threw a shoe at the door when Bobby stormed out last night after you made your appearance."

"Feisty little thing, aren't you."

"Bite me. I've got the food and the report; you can stay or go, I don't care."

"Like I told you on the phone," he said, following her to the couch, "it's my lunch hour. You're stuck with me."

"Oh, joy." She opened one of the cartons and found fried rice. "What did you bring?"

"Beef with broccoli," he said, pointing to the one she hadn't opened, "and the fried rice you're holding."

"How'd you know I like those?" she said suspiciously.

"They're pretty generic choices. I don't know many people who won't eat one or the other." He grabbed a plastic fork and reached for the beef with broccoli. "So tell me about your case."

"Ah, the one thing in my life that seems to be going ok. What do you already know?" She paused to fork some rice into her mouth.

"I know you've got a dead college professor and a student who looks guilty. Beyond that, I'm pretty much in the dark."

"Hmm." She swallowed the rice. "Well, the COD was a fun one - he was fed rat poison, which apparently causes uncontrollable bleeding. Whoever it was didn't seem to think that was enough, though, because then they spent what must have been hours making cuts all over his body."

He grabbed for a wayward piece of broccoli just before it rolled off the table. "What for?"

"The poison kept the blood from clotting, so the cuts just kept bleeding until there was no blood left. The scene looked like a slaughterhouse."

"Ooh, pleasant."

She snorted. "Right, 'pleasant.' Exactly the word I would have used. Anyway, we asked around at the school and went through some records and found out that this one student, Andrew Kim, has been lying to everyone about his grades and - we think - his relationship to the vic."

"Relationship like they were gay?"

"Nah, a crime of passion would be too easy. It's more like they seemed to be rivals."

"Ok, gotcha. Go on."

She held up a finger, telling him to wait, while she ate a bite of the beef. "Then the kid's ex-girlfriend, who he happened to share an office with, got attacked in their office. The perp knocked her out and tore up her side of the room, but just politely rifled through his side."

He let out a low whistle. "Is she ok?"

"Yeah," she said with a nod. "No concussion, and she seems pretty resilient, psychologically. Nice kid."

"She give you anything useful?"

"All she could tell me was that judging by the size of the shadow she saw, she thought it was a guy who hit her."

"Useless," he said, shrugging. "Pass the rice."

She slid the carton over to him. "Yeah, pretty useless. But we brought the boy in for questioning yesterday and he is _definitely _hiding something. We've been trying to place him at the scene, and while I was in with the suspect, Bobby had one of his epiphanies. He got the kid to decipher an acronym in the vic's date book, without telling him the date it was written on. The kid identified it as saying that the vic had an appointment with him. What he didn't realize was that it was penciled in for the night the poison was administered."

"Did he crack?"

"No, unfortunately. But we think we've got enough to get a warrant for his place, especially now that we have these lab results. We may be able to find remnants of the poison or -"

She was cut off by the sound of her buzzer. "Oh, come _on_! I swear, I've had more people buzz me in the last two days than in the whole two months before that." She stood up with a sigh, saying over her shoulder, "Leave some food for me."

She checked the peephole. "Oh, you've got to be fucking _kidding _me!"

"What's wrong?" he asked, putting down the carton he'd been holding as he realized that she sounded genuinely alarmed.

"Take a guess at who's behind door number one."

He only knew of one person who she'd be this pissed to see. "Goren?"

"Yep," she said with mocking cheerfulness. "You know what? I think you should answer the door and get rid of him."

"No way. It's your apartment, why would I answer the door?"

"Because, Logan, I don't want to deal with him, and considering what you did last night, you owe me." She walked back to the table, motioning him toward the door. "Go. I won't let him hurt you."

He scoffed as he stood up. "I'm not worried about him hurting me." All the same, he walked to the door as slowly as possible and hesitated for a long second. Then, putting on his toughest expression, he opened the door. "Yeah?"

In any other situation, he'd have laughed at how Goren's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "Where's Eames?" he said roughly when he recovered from the shock.

"She's inside," Logan said impassively. "Where did you think she'd be?"

"Let me in." Goren tried to walk past him, but Logan planted one hand firmly on the doorframe and held him back.

"How 'bout you tell me what you want, first."

Bobby gritted his teeth and tried to keep his cool. "Look, I don't know what you're doing here. For the moment, I don't care. I need to talk to her."

Logan glanced over his shoulder at where she sat, noticing that she'd paled a little in the past minute. He knew that the tension between the partners was at least partly of his own making, but all the same, he didn't think he quite trusted Goren to not pick a fight with the poor girl once he got into the apartment. "I don't think she particularly wants to talk to you, sorry."

"Ok, because you can read her mind?"

"No," Logan said firmly. "Because she told me so."

"You son of a bitch." Goren was teetering on the very limits of his self-control and he knew it. "Let me in," he growled.

Logan opened his mouth to refuse again, but closed it when her voice came from behind him: "Let him in, Mike. He won't ever leave otherwise."

Glaring at the other man, Logan opened the door wider and removed his arm from the doorframe. "After you," he said mockingly.

Goren stalked past him and straight to where Eames was sitting cross-legged on the floor. "What's he doing here?"

She raised her eyebrows and said calmly, "Eating lunch. You couldn't tell from the food all over the table?"

"Why?"

"Why not?" she said, knowing it would piss him off. "It's not like I had other company lined up."

She was right; she hadn't had any other company lined up. And he knew whose fault that was, he reminded himself: his own. But that didn't change the very strong desire he had to slug the guy who'd replaced him today. "You said last night that . . ." He glanced over his shoulder at Logan, who was standing a few feet away and watching suspiciously. Lowering his voice so only she could hear, he finished, "You said he wasn't 'competition'."

"He's not. But hey, you didn't believe me then, so why believe me now?"

"I didn't say I didn't bel-"

" 'I'm not sure I believe that, Alex'," she quoted. "Sure sounded like it to me."

"Look, would you just . . . get rid of him so we can talk?"

"Screw you," she said hotly, turning her back to him. "It's my day off and I want to relax. Dealing with you is_ not_ my idea of relaxation. At least Logan can converse without accusing me of every sexual indiscretion in the book."

"I never . . .!"

"Leave, Bobby. Now."

Logan watched them closely, more concerned than he had been a few minutes ago. He didn't think Goren was the type to actually harm a woman . . . but he didn't really know the guy that well and, frankly, he preferred to play it safe and stay close.

"No," Goren said, crossing his arms and glaring at Alex, then Logan. "Not unless he goes too."

"Jesus Christ, Goren, you don't own me! You don't get to say who stays and who goes. _I _do, and I say that you're the one who's going to be leaving. As in, _now._"

She had to listen to him, Goren thought, panicked. He had to explain all this to her, and tell her . . . "Alex," he said pleadingly, taking a step toward her.

"Whoa, now," Logan said, quickly planting himself between the two. "I believe she asked you to leave."

"Move," Goren ordered distractedly.

"Sorry, man; not happening. She doesn't want you here, so go."

Alex watched in horror as one of her worst nightmares exploded into reality: Bobby let out a growl and took a swing at Logan, who barely managed to block the punch.

"Hey!" Alex shouted, no longer caring who was in the wrong. "Both of you, stop!"

The testosterone levels in the room were almost palpable, though, and the two men began to circle warily.

"Ok," she tried again, louder. "Knock it off!"

They ignored her.

Obviously neither of them was going to be helpful, so she took the matter into her own hands. She walked across the room and jerked open the apartment door, then walked back to the men just as Bobby landed a punch to Logan's solar plexus. Now truly furious herself, she placed herself between them, facing Goren. "Logan, leave," she ordered, not moving her eyes from her partner's face.

"Are you fucking nuts?" Logan exclaimed as he regained his breath. "I'm not leaving you with him!"

Goren lunged for him, and it took all of Alex's strength to plant her feet and hold him back. "_Stop it_! Both of you! Mike, go. I can handle him, but he's not going to calm down until you leave."

"Alex . . ."

"Go, please. I can take care of myself," she said, giving Goren a hard shove.

Logan was quiet for a second, watching them. "Ok, if you think it will help. But I'm warning you, Goren - I see one mark on her tomorrow and I'm coming after you."

"Oh, big man," Goren taunted.

"Mike!" she pleaded.

Logan went, reminding himself that Alex knew how to defend herself. And he just might strip-search her tomorrow to check for bruises; he would rather enjoy kicking the shit out of her partner if he saw any.

Alex and Bobby were both still until the door shut behind him. Then she took a giant step forward and, staring up into his face, yelled, "What the hell are you doing?"

Bobby, still breathing hard, looked down at her blankly.

"Answer me!" she demanded, giving him another push. "What could possibly be going through your head that it seems like a good idea to punch a guy because you find him having lunch with me?"

He blinked slowly and tried to focus his eyes on her as the rage began to recede. "I . . ."

"Come here," she hissed, yanking him toward the couch. "Sit."

He sat.

She reached out and started unbuttoning his shirt, noting with disgust that her fingers were shaking.

"What . . . what are you doing?" Bobby asked, stunned by her actions.

"Shut up. I'm going to make sure you didn't get yourself hurt," she said. "And then I'm going to kill you myself."

Adrenaline highs were not conducive to coherent thought, and he could only stare at her as she undid the rest of his shirt and yanked it off him, roughly shoving him to one side and then the other as she checked for bruises. "Uh, Alex . . ."

"Shut _up_!" She stood up, glaring down at him as he sat on the couch. "What the hell is wrong with you? I've never seen you throw a punch at anyone, _ever_. Even at the most disgusting suspects we've had to deal with."

"Alex, I . . ."

"You want to know why he was here?" she said fiercely. "He was here because he brought me _our _goddamn lab report, since he knew I'd want to see it even though it was my day off. He was doing me a _favor_, Bobby. Not . . . seducing me or whatever the hell you thought he was doing."

"But . . ."

"You want to know what else he was doing? He was apologizing for last night! He thought it would be a fun joke to make it look like I had a secret admirer. He had no idea you were here, and he had no idea you were going to pitch a fit. So he brought me lunch as an apology for screwing up." Suddenly more tired than she'd felt in a long time, she shut her mouth and shoved her hair out of her eyes, then said much more quietly, "When was the last time _you _apologized for screwing up?"

"I . . . he . . ." He couldn't seem to find an answer to give her.

She shook her head sadly. "Never mind. Just go home. I'll see you at work tomorrow and we'll pretend none of this ever happened."

"I . . . I don't want to go home," he finally managed. "I came to see you, and-"

"And you've seen me, as well as running off one of the few friends I have in the Department. Good work, Goren. Now go home." She wasn't sure if she would prefer to punch him or to cry on his shoulder, but either way, she wasn't going to let herself. When Bobby continued to sit, just staring up at her, she gave up. "I'm going back to bed. When I wake up, you'd better be gone."

Not giving him a chance to argue, she turned her back on him and disappeared into her bedroom.

Goren flinched when he heard the soft _click _of the door locking behind her.


	21. A watched pot

He didn't leave. He wouldn't let himself. Walking out the door of her apartment would be severing whatever of their connection was left after the events of the last few days.

So he cleaned, thankful for once that Alex had a tendency to drop her clothes and books on the floor instead of putting them away.

He organized her living room, even squaring the edge of her couch perfectly with the wall and folding the afghan her mother had made into a neat military triangle. When he'd exhausted the possibilities of that room, he moved on to her bathroom, which was, unfortunately for him, nearly immaculate to begin with. He gave the counter and shower walls a thorough wipe-down and then, unable to find anything else that needed cleaning, he moved on to the kitchen.

He'd just cleaned this room all of two days ago, but he wasn't surprised to find that her counter had again become home to a host of dry goods. He put all of the boxes away in their correct cabinets, making sure they all faced the same direction. When he finished the counters, he found some Lysol and attacked her kitchen counters, scrubbing furiously at every drip or spot he could find. Then he swept the floor. He even took a Brillo pad to her sink, scouring away the stains and calcium deposits.

There still hadn't been a sound from her room. Nothing to indicate she was even awake, let alone willing to speak to him. When he finished the kitchen, he went and stood outside the bedroom door for a few minutes, repeatedly raising his had to knock and then losing his nerve. Then he just stood there with his hands at his sides, trying to will her to open the door. Still no movement from inside the room.

So he returned to the kitchen, took all the boxes out of the cabinets, and set about creating a new organizational scheme for the room. When he realized that his new system involved alphabetizing her groceries, he knew he'd lost what little sanity he'd had left after today's fight.

With a heavy sigh, he sat down at her kitchen table with his head in his hands.

How was he going to fix this?

She would have been completely within her rights to end the fight by knocking him out, rather than sending Logan home and leaving herself alone with her very angry, very jealous partner.

He'd gotten into enough fights in his younger days to know that when he was truly furious, people tended to run for cover. He was well aware that he just appeared too big to _not _be dangerous, even if he never made a move toward the person. He had almost never needed to actually throw a punch; just the threat of it had a strange way of making people back away and try to claim they'd been joking. And when he really lost his head and hit someone, he invariably woke up the next morning drowning in guilt, knowing that just the weight behind his punches usually left his opponents laid out flat, if not stumbling to the emergency room.

And yet Alex had, when it came down to it, consciously put herself in what she had to have known was a precarious situation. Rather than hiding behind Logan, she'd sent him away. She was probably aware that things were going to get worse before they got better, and he should have known that it was her nature to take whatever blows she needed to to protect those she cared about.

She'd seen him pissed in the past, even if she hadn't seen him in a fist fight. Any other woman, even if she was brave enough to be alone with him in such a situation in the first place, would probably have been double-checking that the snap on her gun's holster was open.

But she, all hundred pounds and sixty-two inches of her, had gone toe-to-toe with him and shouted into his face that he was a worthless idiot. No weapon other than her voice used, no weapon other than her voice needed. The reality of her rage had actually cowed him, regardless of her size, and he had backed down.

And then, still as infuriated as he'd ever seen her, she'd sat him down and checked him for injuries. Was that just the cop instinct, or did she do it because she was truly concerned?

He couldn't leave this apartment. At the very least, he needed to know how much damage he'd done today.

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Alex lay curled up in her bed, almost entirely covered by the pile of blankets she'd pulled over herself, wondering if he was still out there. It had been hours since she'd told him to leave - she'd been unable to stop herself from glancing at the clock every few minutes - and she was still torn between resignation and rage.

She'd stripped down to her underwear, which was her usual habit for a daytime nap, an hour ago, with the desperate hope that that it might trick her body into thinking it was really nap time, but now she was just cold in addition to being resigned, pissed, and still awake.

This whole thing had been Bobby's fault. He'd gone from plain old jealousy to dog-in-the-manger syndrome. He'd hit another man in her living room, for god's sake! At least she'd put a stop to that before some neighbor called 911; she couldn't think of anything worse than having to explain to Deakins why two male co-workers had been in her apartment fighting over her. "Why yes, sir, it's just that I'm such a prize. You know, we middle-aged female cops are in high demand . . ."

She punched her pillow. Why couldn't she get back to sleep? If she slept, she wouldn't have to think about this horrible day. She looked over at the clock again.

Only one minute had passed since she last checked. It was officially time to admit to herself that it just wasn't going to happen.

She rolled out of bed with a groan, realizing that it was approaching dinner time. Maybe she could find a recipe for something really complicated. Something French, maybe. Having to concentrate on not burning her dinner would probably distract her.

Shrugging on a half-length robe, she unlocked the bedroom door.

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He was still here, she realized a few minutes later with a hint of dread. She could see his elbow around the corner of the kitchen wall. She could tell he was sitting at the table, but she couldn't see enough of him to ascertain what he was doing.

She tied the robe's belt a little tighter and took a tentative step into the room . . .

His head was down on the table, his hands flat against the wood and his cheek pillowed on his hands. He could have been sleeping, she decided, but he could also just be deep in thought. Either way, she needed him out of her kitchen.

Taking a deep breath and reminding herself that she'd already vanquished him once today, she said softly, "Bobby?"

He didn't move.

She took a step closer and touched his arm as lightly as she could. "Bobby."

He jerked his head up with a sharp intake of breath. She jumped back, slamming her hip into the corner of the counter. "Ow!"

He tried to blink the sleep from his eyes while the turned his head to see what she was yelling about.

Oh god, she wasn't dressed.

Well, she did have clothes on, but the robe, well . . . it didn't cover much.

She pulled the lapels of the robe closed with one hand and rubbed her sore hip with the other. "Stop looking at me."

He turned his head away, muttering an embarrassed, "Sorry."

Needing a reason to look away from him, she turned toward the cabinet she kept her pasta in. "Why are you still here?"

"I didn't want to leave with you still thinking that what I did earlier is me." He turned his head, looking at her. "Uh, if you're looking for the pasta . . . it's on the third shelf of the pantry now."

She shut the cabinet and faced him again with an incredulous look on her face. "You re-organized my kitchen?"

He shrugged. "I couldn't just sit here."

She nervously tightened the robe again and shifted back to his point of a few seconds ago. "I already know that rage isn't typical of you. You didn't have to stay here to tell me that."

He warily stood up, moving slowly to keep from spooking her. "Yes, I did."

"No, Bobby. You didn't. You knew I wanted you gone. Are you going to keep on ignoring what I ask you to do?"

"I . . . maybe. It depends on what you ask."

"And if I ask you to leave?" she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

She hadn't budged, he thought. That was good, very good. Deciding to press his luck, he started walking toward her. "I can't leave yet."

She held her ground, watching with a direct gaze as he approached. "Wrong. You can definitely leave. There's the door," she said, unfolding her arms to point.

He stopped mere inches from her, searching her face for a hint to her true feelings.

She re-crossed her arms and frowned at him. "What are you doing?"

"Seeing if you're . . . afraid of me."

She had expected him to make an excuse to cover the fact that he was trying to either intimidate her or distract her. "If . . . what?"

He leaned against the counter, putting one hand on either side of her. "I'm making sure you're not scared of me."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Why the hell would I be scared of you?"

He hadn't thought it was that hard to understand. "Because I lost my temper and hit another person right in front of you," he said patiently.

She sighed. "Yeah, you did. But that means I think you're an asshole, not that I'm scared of you."

"Even though I could easily have hurt you, too?" he asked, hesitant to believe he would get off so easily.

"Oh, for god's sake, stop pitying yourself. If you were going to hit me, you would have done it when I got in your face. I knew you wouldn't, and you didn't. Therefore I have no reason to be afraid of you," she snapped. "There, do you feel better now?"

He stared at her. "Not much."

"You know, it's really not nice of you to try to make me feel sorry for you when I'm busy being mad at you," she told him, lifting one of his arms and walking under it so she could reach the pantry he'd told her the pasta was in. "It pisses me off when I don't get to stay angry."

"Sorry."

She pulled a box of linguine off of the shelf and sighed. "You hungry?"

"What?" he asked, caught off guard by the casualness of her question.

"If you're not going to leave while I make dinner, you might as well eat," she explained impatiently. "So is linguine ok?"

He nodded slowly. "I guess so. But, uh . . . you're going to cook in that?" he asked, indicating her robe. "What if something splashes?"

She stared at him for a long second, an idea forming in her head. His obvious worry had, as she'd told him, lessened her anger . . . but at the same time, she resented that. And maybe now she could take a little revenge.

After all, she didn't have anything he hadn't seen before . . .

A slow smile spread across her face. "You're right, Bobby," she said brightly, untying the belt. "I wouldn't want to stain this nice robe." She was gratified to see his jaw drop as she slipped the robe off and tossed it over a chair.

It took him a few seconds to process the fact that she'd just casually stripped down to her underwear. Not that he was displeased, but this hadn't exactly been what he intended with his question. Finally, he forced out, "I was thinking . . . more along the lines of, uh, you getting burned. Because you had, uh . . . skin exposed." She had to be doing this purposely, he thought suddenly. She knew exactly how frustrating it was for him!

"Oh, I'll be ok," she said lightly as she turned to the stove. "I'm not likely to fall into the pot on my stomach, believe me."

"You . . ."

She looked over her shoulder and handed him a pot. "Fill this, would you?"

He obediently set in the sink and turned on the tap, then continued staring at her nearly-naked body. Damn, she was beautiful. What game was she playing now?

"Uh, Bobby . . ."

He tore his eyes away from her. "Huh?"

"Pot's full," she said, pointing to where the pot lay overflowing in the sink. "You ought to pay more attention."

Caught in the act! "Oops." He rescued the pot, pouring out enough water to make room for the pasta, and slid it onto the stove.

She turned the burner on, then jumped up to sit on the counter a few feet to the side of it. "So, while we wait for the watched pot to boil, you want to tell me why you seem so convinced I have something going with Mike Logan?"


	22. Bedtime

He could only stare at her for a moment, taken aback by her candor and her quick subject change. "Why . . .?" he echoed.

"Yeah, why. I want to know what I've done that makes you think I'd two-time _anyone_, let alone you."

"You're, uh . . . I don't think you're 'two-timing' me. That's not true."

"Then what's the issue here?"

"Him."

She sighed. "You know, he's really never done anything to you. The worst he's done is try to irritate you. It's not his fault it blew up in his face. And before you start whining," she added, "I'm not siding with him over you. I'm just explaining reality as it is outside the head of Bobby Goren."

"I just don't think it's appropriate for him to be giving you gifts and inviting himself to your apartment. He's your coworker."

She was pointedly silent for a second, then: "Do I need to explain to you the utter absurdity of that statement, given that you're currently standing, uninvited, in my kitchen?"

"That's different."

"Oh? And why's it different?"

"I'm your partner."

Noticing that the water was boiling, she slid off the counter and dumped the linguine into the pot. "So if Logan was my partner, you wouldn't disapprove of me cooking dinner like this," she said, indicating her state of undress, "with him? Get real, Bobby."

"It's _different_," he repeated, unable to put his argument into words.

"How?" she challenged, walking over to stand in front of him. "Why don't you just admit that you seem to think I'm your exclusive property?"

Her position mere inches from him gave him a good view of the cleavage her bra created. He swallowed. "I, uh . . ." he managed hoarsely, "I don't think you're my property. Or anyone else's property."

She raised her eyebrows and started tapping one of her feet impatiently.

"It's just that . . ." He stopped, licking his lips nervously. "You're . . . I . . ."

She reached past him and turned down the heat on the burner, still not saying anything.

His breathing hitched slightly when she brushed against him as she reached. "There aren't many people who I really care about," he said after taking a deep breath. "You're very important to me."

If she hadn't been so determined to get revenge and/or get an answer out of him, she might have melted right then, but she fought the urge and instead said, "What's that got to do with Mike?"

"He's . . . good with people. You said it yourself. He can have anyone he wants. I only . . . have you."

"That sounds disturbingly close to 'I'm settling for whatever I can get'," she said matter-of-factly. "Pasta's going to be done in a minute. You'd better talk your way out of this hole before then."

"Er . . ."

"Clock's ticking, Goren."

He clenched his jaw at her threat, then forced himself to relax. "You don't understand. He could be happy with any number of women. He's like that. But I . . ."

"Hmm?" she said mildly, tasting a piece of the pasta to make sure it was done. "It's done." She casually pushed him aside so she could strain the pot into the sink.

"Alex, are you even listening?"

"Of course I'm listening," she said as she tipped the pot. "I'm the one who ordered you to talk to begin with."

"You're not going to look at me?"

"Nope. Explain now or forever hold your peace."

He sighed. "Logan could be happy with anyone. He's that type of person. But me, I can't do that. What I feel for people is . . . too intense."

"Meaning. . . .?"

"Oh, hell." He turned away, resting his hands on the counter and lowering his head. "Meaning that you're the person who fits with me, and I'm afraid someone's going to take that away."

She glanced over at him, taking in his defeated posture, and slowly set the pot down in the sink. "Bobby . . ."

He shook his head. "Don't."

Ignoring that, she rested her hand on his arm and bent at the waist, trying to see his face. "Why not?"

"This isn't how it's supposed to work," he said. "It . . . I shouldn't put this on you."

Reversing what she'd done a few minutes earlier, she lifted one of his hands off the counter, ducking under it and putting herself in his arms. "Hey. Look at me," she said, leaning back against the counter so she could try to meet his downcast eyes. "I asked you to tell me, so if you're going to be mad at anyone, be mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you," he said, refusing to meet her eyes. "You didn't ask for this."

"Neither did you. I'm getting the distinct impression that if you thought you could change this and not feel anything for me, you'd jump at the chance."

He raised his head just enough for her to see the shock in his eyes. "No! I wouldn't change . . . I like feeling this. I just wouldn't have dragged you into it if I could have avoided it."

"You didn't 'drag' me into anything. Stop giving yourself so much credit," she said, pushing back on his shoulders to try to get him to stand up straight. "I run my brain, not you."

"I can't control this."

"Is that what this is about? You feel out of control, and you compensate by trying to protect me from the world?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Look at me," she ordered gently.

"I don't want to."

"God, you're stubborn," she said without anger. "Look at me," she said again, putting her arms around his waist, "please?"

He raised hooded eyes to her face, expecting to find censure, but finding concern instead. "Alex, don't."

"Don't what?" she said. "Don't try to make you feel better while you're busy pitying yourself?"

He shook his head. "Don't be worried about me. And you are. I can see it in your eyes."

With a sigh, she used her arms to pull herself up to sit on the counter again, which gave her a better angle to see his face. "I'm always worried about you when you insist on trying to hide your problems."

"I'm not hiding. I told you, you don't need me to put this burden on you."

"That's stupid," she snapped. "Come here," she added, pulling on his shoulders until he stood against the counter, between her legs. Resting her arms over his shoulders and putting her forehead against his, she stared hard at him. "It's more of a burden when you won't talk to me, ok? Can you understand that?"

"Yes, but you . . . Alex, you don't understand. It's . . . I'm too . . . fearful and hopeful and intense . . . all at once . . ."

"And I have no problem with any of those," she said firmly. "If I did, we wouldn't be in this position. Would you please believe me for once when I say that you have nothing to worry about?"

He didn't answer, but he did finally look her directly in the eye.

"Ok?" she tried again.

His only response was to not pull away.

She didn't know what his silence was intended to communicate, but it was starting to annoy her. "Cat got your tongue?" No answer. "Ok, how about if you can hear me, blink twice."

There was a pregnant pause as he just looked at her for a second, and then he let out a shuddering breath and pulled her to the edge of the counter so he could hug her tightly, burying his face in her shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

She rested her cheek on his bowed head. "You need to stop being sorry and just start being honest with me. There'll be a lot fewer apologies for you to make in the first place, that way."

His lips moved against her neck as he whispered something she couldn't hear.

Forcing his chin up, she stroked her thumb over his cheek. "What? I didn't hear you."

He leaned into her hand. "I need you," he whispered again.

"Bobby, you _have _me," she said insistently, relaxing against his chest. "When are you going to realize that?"

"I don't know," he said, skimming his hands over her bare back. "So unsure . . ."

She wrapped her dangling legs around his hips and twined her arms around his neck as though enveloping his body with hers would insulate him from his fears. "Well, _I'm _sure. And you trust me, don't you?"

"Yes." She was surrounding him, pressing her naked body against his from shoulders to groin. Did she realize that he was fighting not to snatch her off the counter and just lose himself in her? "Alex . . ." he groaned.

Without releasing him from the hug, she stretched out her fingers and pulled his shirt out of his pants. "Do you have any idea," she said conversationally, as she inched it up his back, "how frustrating it is to keep losing you to your fears every time I get close to you?"

He allowed her to pull away enough to remove his shirt and toss it toward the chair her robe lay on. "Then don't let me go," he whispered, pulling her back into his embrace. "Keep me with you."

She pulled him closer with her legs, crossing her ankles behind his back, and kissed him. A quiet gasp escaped her when she felt him against her. "Bed," she muttered after a few seconds. "Now. Before we can fight."

He froze against her. "You want . . ."

"Bed," she repeated, louder. "I'm not letting you run away tonight."

_Oh god_, he thought. _Is this really happening? "_I'm not going to run," he told her. "Are you sure you want this? After today, I mean . . ."

She ran her hands down his chest to his belt and began to unbuckle it. "Ok, I guess if you don't feel like going all the way to bed . . ." she began as though he hadn't spoken, her voice trailing off into a quiet laugh as she heard his sharp intake of breath.

He couldn't remember what they'd been talking about thirty seconds ago. All he was conscious of was that she had just pulled his belt off and now she was reaching for the button on his pants.

"You're overdressed," she told him as she unzipped his fly. She tried to push his pants down, but couldn't get any leverage from her sitting position. "Off," she ordered, moving her attention to his broad chest in the meanwhile.

He started to say her name, to question her again, but the look in her eyes begged him to do as she asked. He released his hold on her while he pulled off his shoes and pants, then straightened up again to find her watching him hungrily. Of their own volition, his arms shot out and wrapped around her, unhooking her bra and pulling it down her arms. "God," he breathed as he took in the sight of her naked upper body.

Hardly aware of his exclamation, she started trying to rid him of his boxers.

"Hold on," he said quickly, backing a step away from her. "And no, I'm not running," he said when he saw the fear written on her face. "But this isn't how tonight's going to go."

She groaned. "Bobby, enough with the perfection . . . ism!" she said, ending on a squeak as his hand slid up her thigh.

"Wrong," he said, resting his hands on her hips and pulling her off the counter. "There's plenty more to come."

She reflexively wrapped her arms and legs around him and held on. "Bobby . . ."

"You did tell me to take you to bed, didn't you?"

He had a point. She settled down in his arms, allowing him to carry her to the bedroom and savoring the sensation of his skin against hers.

When they reached the bed, he tried to drop her on it jokingly, but she held on with her arms around his neck just long enough to give his shoulder a playful retaliatory bite.

Then she fell onto the bed and held out her arms to him.


	23. Evidence

A/N: Emsta, this first scene is for you ;)

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The phone didn't ring. It didn't ring while they explored each other in her bed; it didn't ring when they finally dozed off, exhausted; and it didn't ring when Alex warily climbed into the shower the next morning, leaving Bobby with her phone.

In fact, by the time they stepped into the elevator at One PP, they were both feeling rather paranoid about the lack of interruptions. Had Deakins broken his phone? Did he suspect them of being together, and purposely give them a free night?

He rested his hand lightly on the back of her neck, simply maintaining contact between them, as they rode to the eleventh floor. When the doors began to slide open, she reached up and brushed it away, giving him a warning look. "Sorry," Bobby whispered as they walked into the squad room.

"Behave yourself today, ok?" she whispered back. "No touching."

He sighed. "I know. You think Deakins wants an update on the lab report now, or after we talk to Carver?"

She gave him a smile that told him she was pleased at his lack of argument. "I'm just going to stick my head in and tell him we're trying for a warrant. We can fill in the blanks later."

"Works for me." They parted ways at their desks, Bobby setting down his portfolio and the cardboard tray holding their coffees, Alex going to knock on the door of the captain's office.

"Eames, come in," Deakins said cheerfully when she appeared. "Good day off?"

She reminded herself that if she started snickering now, she'd be trapped in here for the next two hours, explaining herself to Deakins. "It was ok, yeah. Restful."

"Glad to hear it. You look a lot more relaxed today."

_Don't laugh don't laugh don't laugh don't laugh don't laugh don't laugh . . ._

"So, what can I do for you?" he went on, oblivious to her silent struggle.

She offered him the folder she'd been holding. "Lab report came back on that coffee grinder. Traces of brodifacoum."

"That's your rat poison?"

"Yup. Between that, the witness statements, and the attack on Sara King, we think we can get a warrant to search Kim's apartment."

He nodded. "If I were the judge, you'd have it. Talking to Carver?"

"Goren should be on the phone with him right now."

"Good, good. Keep me in the loop, Eames."

She nodded as she pushed open the door. "Of course, sir."

As she walked back to her desk, she saw that Bobby was sitting quietly, reading something in his portfolio. "Hey," she said, approaching. "Carver?"

"He said to give him half an hour. He'll call back."

"Sounds promising," she said with a smile. "Deakins is on board, says to let him know what we find."

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A little over an hour later, Alex knocked on the door of Andrew Kim's apartment near the Empire State campus. There was silence from behind the door for a few seconds, and then the faint sound of footsteps. "Who is it?" a voice asked as they heard someone scrabbling at the door locks, although the door had a peephole and it was hard to mistake the sight of two detectives and two patrol officers, all holding up badges.

"NYPD, Drew. We need to take a look at your apartment," she replied.

The sound of the locks abruptly stopped. "Why?" he demanded through the closed door.

"We have a warrant, Mr. Kim," Goren said patiently. "Please open the door."

The unlocking noises started up again and the door was pulled open, revealing a rather pale Andrew Kim. "A warrant for what?" he demanded, not able to completely conceal his alarm.

"It's all in here," Eames said, handing him a folded copy of the warrant. "If you'll just remain here, one of the officer will stay with you while we search."

"But I -"

"Thanks," Goren said distractedly as the two detectives slipped past the apartment's owner and began their search.

Goren wandered into Kim's bedroom, an impersonal-looking rectangle that held a full-size bed, a chest of drawers, and a computer desk that supported a laptop and a printer. He did a quick search of the drawers, digging his hands down through the piles of clothes to feel for any buried objects, but came up empty.

Next came a top-to-bottom examination of the bed: check under the pillow, inside the pillow, under the blankets, under the mattress, under the bedskirt. He found a copy of Playboy under the mattress that might have been older than its owner, and a number of blonde hairs mixed in with the black ones on the pillows. The hair might have been interesting if he hadn't already known to expect physical evidence of Kim's ex-girlfriend in the bed - college students weren't known for their diligent sheet-changing, he reflected with a shudder.

The computer presented an interesting problem. It was probably the item most likely to reveal its owner's plans or research, but at the moment their warrant covered only "household or grocery substances, tools, and/or evidence of blood." He stared down at the machine for a moment, trying to weigh the odds of their finding something on the hard drive against the fury of a grad student deprived of his computer, then finally nodded slowly to himself and unfolded his cell phone.

"Carver," the ADA answered briskly.

"It's Goren. I'm in the suspect's apartment staring at a laptop. What can you do for me?"

"Hmm." The sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard came through the phone, followed by a grunt of satisfaction. "Shouldn't be a problem. I'll get on the horn to Judge Adams and have the computer included. If I haven't called you back by the time you're done there, you call me."

"Thanks."

"Not a problem. I'll give you a call soon."

Both men hung up and Goren looked around the room to see what he'd missed.

By the time he left the bedroom, he'd also searched through a tiny closet stacked almost floor-to-ceiling with old textbooks - nothing even remotely medicine-related, and didn't this kid know about bookstore buybacks? - as well as the pile of printed pages lying in the printer tray and the inside of a floor lamp. Nothing bore fruit, and he exited the room, empty-handed, to find his partner.

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Eames had headed for the kitchen while Goren searched the bedroom. It seemed to her that, considering where they'd found the brodifacoum residue in Li's apartment, the kitchen was the most likely place for Kim to have stashed any leftovers. Eyeing all the drawers, cabinets, and appliances, she decided to just start at one end of the room and work straight across in layers.

A quick scan of the fridge and freezer turned up nothing except a stack of processed cheese slices that looked like they were getting ready to colonize the refrigerator and an unopened, presumably forgotten, bag of tater-tots frozen solid enough to kill someone with.

She checked the oven, found it empty, and opened the microwave with the same result. A breadbox that sat on the counter contained a bag of fossilized marshmallows and a loaf of bread that was at about the same level of sentience as the cheese in the fridge.

Beginning to get frustrated, she moved on to the floor-level cabinets. Pots and pans, all of which looked like battered refugees from a garage sale, tumbled out onto her feet when she opened the cabinet nearest to the oven. She jumped back and cursed, embarrassed at the loud clatter the cookware had made, then hastily began putting it back where it came from. She closed the cabinet with a satisfying, though loud, slam and shifted to her left to the next one.

This cabinet, which lay under the sink, contained cleaning products. She brightened up considerably, recognizing this as one of the likely storage places for excess rat poison, and began sifting through the bottles, cans, and brushes.

Apparently Andrew Kim hadn't been warned about bleach and ammonia, either, because the two bottles stood next to each other - although she did give him credit for having neither bottle be leaky, as they had been in Li's apartment. A bottle of Soft-Scrub was shoved in the back corner, half covered by a tired-looking sponge. The rest of the sponge hung over the edge of a mop-sized bucket which contained a large bottle of Lysol and a new, still-wrapped mop head. The inside corners of the cleaning cabinet held an ironic, and alarming, amount of unidentifiable grunge that ranged from blue-black to a fascinating shade of green.

"Shit," she muttered as she realized she'd emptied the cabinet and still found nothing. She shoved the array of bottles back into their places and stood up with a groan to move to the last floor cabinet, which turned out to be a larger incarnation of the prototypical junk drawer. It held half-full six packs of beer, a few pots that were too battered to be useable, a rusty bundt pan, and a frighteningly large spider that made her propel herself away from the cabinet faster than she thought she could move.

The spider could definitely be a murderer, she decided, but it hadn't committed the crime she was interested in. Brushing compulsively at her hair and clothes to remove any remnants of spider web, she turned her attention to the cabinets that sat above the counter.

The first cabinet, a narrow affair that made her wonder who the hell had designed this kitchen, contained spices and condiments, as well as what looked like the accumulation of years of crumbs. _Ugh, _she said to herself, _I don't understand how anyone can live like this, even if you are subsisting on only $10,000 a year. Elbow grease still doesn't cost a cent! _

The next cabinet held a toaster, a blender, and a food processor. She checked the blender and food processor for any kind of residue, but found none and set them aside to be considered later as she checked the third cabinet. This one held bowls and plates, which were chipped and scarred but at least in better shape than the pots had been.

Two more cabinets, she saw with disappointment. This search wasn't working out the way they'd hoped.

With a sigh, she opened the next cabinet. Mugs and glasses on one shelf, cups and measuring cups on the next . . . she had to haul herself up onto the counter to get a good look at the top shelf, but her exertion turned out to be worth it: she found a box of teabags and two open bags of coffee, one ground and one unground. Remembering the coffee grinder from Li's, she snatched the coffee bags with eager hands and jumped off the counter, wishing she could just tear them open.

Reminding herself that she was a professional and professionals didn't rip anything open because just they were impatient, she set the two bags on the counter, double-checked her gloves, and carefully eased open the one that felt like it held pre-ground beans. She dipped her hand into it, picked up a handful of the grounds, and sifted them through her fingers. They were a depressingly uniform brown. She tentatively sniffed the mouth of the bag, detected nothing unusual, and set it aside, reminding herself that Goren was the one with the nose, not her.

The second bag seemed to hold whole beans, judging by the sound it made when she shook it. Repeating the actions she'd just taken with the first bag, she opened it and grabbed a handful of its contents to examine. The beans looked normal, she thought with disappointme-

Her thoughts were cut off as she realized that there was something else, much larger than the rest of the beans, at the bottom of the pile in her hand. She used one finger of her free hand to push the coffee from side to side, sifting down to the anomalous object.

It was green.

It was pellet-shaped.

There was no way in hell she was going to sniff it.


	24. Confrontation

"So it went well?" Deakins demanded, pouncing on them as soon as he caught sight of them entering the squad room.

Eames shrugged. "Hopefully. We found some good stuff."

"A laptop, which is being cracked into as we speak," Goren supplied, "and some very interesting green pellets, which are also being cracked open, hopefully as we speak."

"What's the word from the suspect?"

The two detectives exchanged looks. "I believe his exact words were 'Fuck you both, I want a lawyer,' right Goren?"

"Something along those lines, yeah."

Deakins grinned. "Kid can't be as smart as he wants to think he is. No one with half a brain in their head wants to piss off you two."

"Yeah, well, he never exactly struck me as the humble type," said Eames.

Goren nodded with a half-smile. "She's got a point."

Deakins waved an exaggeratedly annoyed hand at them. "Like you wouldn't back her up even if she was dead wrong. Sometimes I wonder about you guys, you know?" He completely missed the stunned looks that appeared on their faces as he continued, "Go get yourselves some lunch. When's the computer due?"

"Depends," Eames said, recovering first. "Mostly on whether the kid used encryption or password-protection. The best the head geek could tell us was 'probably sometime today'."

Deakins, ever pragmatic, asked her, "Did you try to charm him into fast-tracking it?"

She smothered a smile. "Actually, I got the impression he would have been more interested in having Bobby charm him."

Goren opened his mouth, but Deakins held up a hand. "Stop. I really don't think I want to know whether your dedication to your job goes that far, Goren."

Unable to help herself, Alex burst out laughing.

Goren glared at her and deliberately stepped on the heel of her shoe as he followed her out of the office.

"Lunch?" Goren asked a few minutes later as they settled back at their desks.

She looked up from the file she'd been reading and grinned. "Only if you buy. It's your refusal to flirt with the tech guy that's going to slow us down, after all."

"I'm going to ignore that for now and get my revenge later. Pizza?"

"Sure."

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They had just begun to rip into their pizza when Bobby stiffened and let out a quiet groan.

She looked up at him. "Burn your mouth?"

"Not quite." He pointed behind her. "You've got a visitor."

Curious about who would be visiting her at work, she turned in her chair and found Mike Logan descending on them purposefully. She swung around to look at Goren. "Don't you dare . . ."

He shook his head. "I don't think it's me you need to worry about, this time."

She sighed. "Well, keep it that way. Only one pissed detective is better than two pissed detectives."

"I'm on my best behavior, Alex. Honestly," he added when she looked skeptical. "You think I want to screw this up for the umpteenth day in a row?"

"Good," she said, then turned to greet Logan as he reached her desk. "Hi, Mike. What can I do for you?"

Logan's eyes shifted from her to Goren, narrowed, and moved back to her. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"

She didn't move. "Sure."

"Not here," he added. "Somewhere private."

She glanced across the desks, wary of Goren's reaction. He appeared to be sitting calmly, politely ignoring their conversation. She didn't think anyone but her would notice how his lips were white and his pencil was in danger of snapping.

"I guess," she said, looking back at Logan. "But I want to be back here before my pizza gets cold or Goren steals my share." Knowing that her good day was about to go down the tubes, but having no idea how to avoid it, she stood and followed him away from her desk.

He led her into the conference room and shut the door behind them. "I want to know what happened after I left yesterday."

She pulled out one of the chairs and sat down with a sigh. "Nothing happened. We argued a little more, then he backed down and, uh, left." She was definitely _not _sharing with Logan how she and Bobby had spent the evening.

"Did he hit you?"

"What!"

She saw his jaw clench, then relax. "You heard me," he said.

"No, he did _not _hit me, damn it. You didn't believe me when I told you I could handle him? Bobby would never . . .!"

"I believe you think you can handle him. I also believe he's twice your size and if he goes after you there's nothing you can do about it."

"Oh, this is bullshit. Relax, Mike. He didn't hit me. In fact, he actually apologized eventually for the whole thing."

He glanced over his shoulder toward the glass walls, then pulled her farther back into the room. "Show me your arms."

She started to say no, then decided it was easier to show him that she had no bruises than to argue with him about it. She shoved up one sleeve and then the other, saying, "There. Happy?"

"Ribs."

"Excuse me?"

"He's smart enough to not hit you where it would be visible. Show me your ribs."

"There's no way in hell I'm showing you anything under my shirt," she said furiously, crossing her arms over her chest.

He rolled his eyes. "All I want to see is your ribs. You showed more skin when you worked Vice."

"Jesus Christ. I can't believe you're actually insisting that I just lift up my shirt here in front of the squad room."

"I'll stand in front of you. No one will see."

"You're insane."

"No, Alex, I'm worried. Just prove to me that I'm wrong, ok? And then I'll leave it alone."

She sighed. "Look. I will pull my shirt up exactly two inches, ok? That's all you're going to get. And I swear to god if word of this ever gets out . . ."

"It won't," he assured her. "Show me."

Wishing he would drop dead right in front of her, she slid her shirt up to just above her belly button and held it there for two seconds. "There, see? I'm clean," she said, dropping the shirt back into place. "Can I go back to work now?"

His hand slammed down on the table. "Don't lie to me!"

Startled, she took a step back. "What the . . . I'm not lying to you!"

"It's right there," he said, pointing to her right hip. "I saw it. I'm going to fucking kill him."

"Huh?" She peeked under her shirt in the area he'd pointed out and noticed for the first time that her hip was bruised from when she hit it against the counter yesterday. Damn, could this situation get any worse?

She looked back up at Logan. "He did _not _hit me. And you will _not _be killing him anytime soon. I tripped and hit my hip against the counter, that's all."

"Oh, you 'tripped'?" he sneered. "That's weak, Alex."

"You know what? Screw you. I'm telling you the truth. If you're not going to believe me, that's your problem." She stomped to the door and pulled it open. Just before she stormed through it, she turned and looked back at him. "And stay away from my partner, Logan. I'm warning you."

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It took him absolutely no effort to see that she was upset when she returned from her conversation with Logan. Her face was white and pinched and he thought he saw a tremor go through her. "What the hell happened in there?" he hissed, leaning over his desk and almost onto hers.

She opened the box of pizza and violently yanked a slice out, leaving half the cheese still attached to its neighbor. "Nothing. He's just an asshole who refuses to believe that you're not evil."

"Alex . . ."

She glanced around them to make sure no on was paying attention, then laid her hand over his. "It's fine, ok? Don't get worked up. Let's keep today fight-free. I'll tell you the whole story later." She kept her eyes on his for a long moment, then took her hand back and dropped her eyes.

He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want to ruin this. And after last night, he was as sure as he was going to get that she and Logan weren't involved. All the same, it took all his willpower to not go after the man who had obviously shaken her up more than she was willing to admit. He gritted his teeth and forced his attention back to the form laying in front of him.

Alex let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She'd been terrified that Bobby would lose his temper and get all three of them in trouble, but he appeared determined to do as she asked. "Thank you," she whispered, to which he responded with a short nod, not looking up. Finally able to relax, she took a bite out of the now-cold pizza.

"Goren."

The angry voice startled both of them. Alex frantically juggled her slice of pizza for a moment, trying to keep from dropping it into her lap. When she finally looked up, she had the overwhelming urge to bang her head into her desk, hard.

Logan was back. He was standing behind Bobby, arms crossed and face dangerous.

Bobby met her eyes across their desks and tried to silently communicate that it would be ok. Then he turned slowly to face the other man. "Yes?" he said, deliberately keeping his voice quiet.

"Get the hell up, you bastard." Logan's voice was low and furious.

Before Goren could respond, Alex was out of her chair and standing next to him. "Mike, I warned you."

"I don't care what you warned me about. You obviously aren't objective about this." He tried to lean past her to get at Bobby.

"Oh, and you are?" she shot back, leaning with him to block his access. "You're making a scene."

"I'm going to make more of one if he doesn't get his ass out of that chair and face me."

Moving with a placating slowness, Goren rose from his chair and looked down at Logan. "There, I'm out of my chair. Now, would you go back to your desk so Eames can start breathing again?"

Logan glanced at her wide eyes and tense expression, then looked back at Goren, who was regarding him almost calmly. "She's breathing fine with me here. Seems to me you're more dangerous to her well-being than I am." Taking a step closer, he poked Goren in the chest. "You like hitting someone who can't fight back? Huh?"

Bobby could only stare at him for a second. "You think I . . . what . . .?"

He was still gaping at Logan when Alex stepped in front of him, as if she could shield his large body with her own small one. "He didn't touch me," she growled. "I told you that. And if you gave as much of a shit about me as you're pretending to, you wouldn't embarrass us like this."

Logan's mouth worked silently for a few seconds. Finally, he threw up his hands with a disgusted look. "Fine. Fine! You want to protect him for a few more hours, knock yourself out. But this isn't over," he said, glaring at Goren. "She can't be your human shield 24/7."

Bobby saw it coming. He'd worked with her long enough to recognize the signs that appeared just before the last thread of Eames's temper snapped, and he reached from behind her to grab her wrist just as she started to swing. "Alex," he said quietly, restraining her as gently as he could. "No."

Unable to move her arm forward, she settled for elbowing her partner, hard. He grunted, but kept his hold on her. "You were just asking him not to make a scene," he continued in a steady voice. "You don't want to make one now."

She seemed to freeze as she processed his words, but he could feel her arm shake under his hand as she struggled to regain control of herself. Finally, she managed a jerky nod.

"Good girl," he said, releasing her wrist and moving his hand to the small of her back. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested, keeping his head down and his eyes on her for fear of reminding her of Logan's presence.

She nodded again. "Yeah. Fine."

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"Bobby," she protested as he pulled her into the elevator, "we can't . . . the computer could be ready any time."

He didn't release her arm, but he relaxed his hand enough that she could pull away if she wanted. "Yeah, well, right now I'm less concerned with that than with keeping you from getting suspended for hitting another detective."

A shudder ran through her. "I really almost did, didn't I."

"You definitely almost did," he said with a nod. "I thought I was supposed to be the one with a temper problem."

"But did you _hear _what he was saying?" she said, pulling away from him and nearly running out of the elevator when they got to the ground floor. "In public!"

"I heard." He looked around as they emerged onto the sidewalk and, seeing no familiar faces, took her hand. "We both need to calm down. Come on, walk with me. I'll buy you some nuts," he added, knowing that she found the scent of street vendors' candied nuts almost irresistible.

She'd really only managed to finish about half a slice of pizza before the blow-up; nuts definitely sounded enticing. "Promise?"

He leaned over to kiss her temple. "Promise."


	25. Time out

A/N: I think this is one of my favorite chapters in the whole story. What do you guys think?

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Feeling like children playing hooky, they sat out on a wooden bench in the park, savoring the warm sunlight, much longer than their lunch hour should have allowed. Alex munched happily on the bag of candied almonds Bobby had bought for her, occasionally offering one to him as he leaned his head against hers; Bobby was content to simply sit, think, and enjoy her company.

"Thanks," she said as she ate the last almond. "These hit the spot."

He smiled at her. "You're welcome. It's nice to know a way to make you smile if I ever need to."

She chucked the crumpled-up bag at him. "You're making mental notes, aren't you - what I like, what I don't like . . ."

He ducked his head. "Guilty as charged. But it doesn't . . . do any harm, right?"

She could hear the apprehension in his voice; he seemed to be afraid to displease her today. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing. Most girls would kill for a guy who remembers that stuff. Add that to the fact that you always remember my birthday, and, well . . ." When he relaxed, she shifted a little closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. "The 'thank you' wasn't only for the nuts."

He looked down at her. "Hmm?"

"Thank you for stopping me. Upstairs, I mean. I know you don't like him; I would have expected you to cheer me on."

He sighed and raised a hand to stroke her hair. "You're right, I don't like him. But I like you, and I didn't want to see you do anything to hurt yourself. And beating Logan up wouldn't have reflected well on you, even if it did feel good."

"I know. So . . . thanks."

He gently lifted her head off his shoulder and gave her a self-effacing smile. "I'm your partner, I'm supposed to watch out for you. No thanks needed." He paused for a second. "And I should thank you for standing up for me. I didn't realize he thought I -"

He was cut off by the sound of his phone ringing. They both groaned, then looked at each other and laughed. "It had to happen sometime," she said with a shrug. "Better answer it."

Wishing the distraction would just disappear, he opened the phone. "Goren."

"Detective Goren, hello. It's Dan from Computer Forensics."

He looked at Alex and nodded, pointing to the phone. "Hi, Dan. Have you got anything for us?"

Next to him, Eames made a sound that was a cross between a choke and laugh. He scowled at her and made a mental note to do the same thing to her the next time someone hit on her.

"Well, I put your machine at the top of my list, and I've given your hard drive a thorough once-over. I had to do a bit of digging, since the kid seemed to have a pretty good grasp of security, but I found some file fragments and search results that look promising. Are you and your partner available to come take a look?"

"Definitely," Goren said. "When can you see us?"

"Well, I'm supposed to be on my lunch hour, but for you, I'll stay hungry for a little longer. This is an interesting case."

He wondered if the guy was trying to flirt with him. He'd have to check with Eames after he hung up; he was pretty sure he wouldn't recognize male flirting directed at him unless he was hit in the face with it.

"That would be great, Dan," he said after a tiny pause. "You're on the ninth floor?"

"Yup."

"Perfect. We can be up there in about . . ." He checked his watch. ". . . ten minutes."

"Sounds good."

Goren disconnected the phone and glared at the woman sitting next to him, whose eyes were twinkling with obvious amusement. "Did he invite you up for coffee?" she teased.

He gave her a look that threatened retribution and stood up. "No, but he did offer me some interesting 'file fragments'."

"Sounds kinky," she said as she stood. "We going right now?"

"Yep."

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She had to admit that Dan wasn't bad-looking, for a computer geek. Not her type - which was convenient, given his obvious preference for Goren - but at least he wasn't short, fat, and pimply. It was a refreshing change to see Bobby try to deal with the type of amorous person she got stuck with way too often, she decided. Besides, it would provide plenty of teasing and blackmail material, should she need it in the near future.

The tech appeared genuinely excited to show them what he'd found. "Come on," he said, dropping Alex's hand after a perfunctory shake and trotting farther into the room, where a waist-high bench sat covered with three desktop computers, two laptops, the multicolored wires that ran between and around them, and an assortment of tools.

"Where's . . ." Alex began, not seeing the laptop they'd brought in.

"Hmm?" Dan asked, looking puzzled for a second. "Oh," he said, pointing to a keyboardless machine that looked like Dr. Frankenstein had gotten to it. "That one."

"You just . . . took it apart?" asked Goren.

"No, not exactly. I opened it up, as you can see. Wanted to check the physical specs and make sure there wasn't anything in there that wasn't supposed to be. I found a dime bag of heroin in one of these once," he explained. "You'd be amazed.

"But anyway," he continued, "The inside was clean. The hardware all looks original. Completely uninteresting, so I moved on to the software. This one was more fun than usual; he was running Linux. Got to flex my root muscles."

"I'm not going to ask," Eames said dryly.

Dan blinked, then turned red. "Oh, root's the base directory. Yeah, I guess that did sound pretty bad, huh?" he said with a bashful laugh, rubbing his neck. "But anyway, uh, I pretty much just combed the drive for information that was still there, then ran it through my pet program, which inspects the drive for data remaining from deletes."

"Isn't that kind of oxymoronic? To have traces of something that was deleted?" she asked.

Goren shook his head. "When you delete a file on a computer, it's not actually erased. It's just marked as information that can be overwritten the next time that slot in the memory is needed."

"Exactly right, Detective," said the tech. "Unless you run a shredder program, you're going to have remnants of stuff you thought was long gone. Which is what happened here. His visible files were clean, mostly term papers full of big words and complicated games that involve 3D graphics, but when I got into the recovered data . . . Well, here," he said, handing Goren a sheet of paper. "Look for yourself."

He did, scanning the list of recovered files before passing it to Eames. "Could you, uh, translate this for us?"

"Sure, sure." He took the sheet back from Eames and pointed to the first item. "First, he had a bunch of cookies from sites like eMedicine and Medline. Doesn't tell us what he was doing there, but I thought it was interesting. Then you have this deleted OpenOffice file. It's got some holes in it from the deletion, but it looks to me like a to-do list. It also contains the words 'rat' and 'coffee,' which you said might be significant when I spoke to you earlier."

Eames raised her eyebrows. "Definitely something we need to take a look at."

"All in good time, my dear," Dan said. Pointing to the next item, he said, "A temp file from an opened flash drive file. Contains the word 'warfarin.' And then here," he said, pointing to the last few file names, which all differed from each other by only one character, "not directly linked to any of your key words, since they're jpegs, but considering that he deleted them at the same time he did the other stuff, I thought they might be important."

"I'm impressed," Alex admitted. "I didn't realize you guys could get that sort of data back after it's gone."

"It may be gone, but it's almost never forgotten, Detective Eames." He smiled at both of them. "I'm going to keep picking at this some more before I turn in my final results. I'll give you guys a call if I find anything else."

"Right," Goren mumbled, already heading for the door. "This is good."

She rolled her eyes and shook the tech's hand. "He means 'thank you.' He's just a little ADD."

"Oh, ok." Dan leaned a little closer. "So, do you, uh, know if he's single?"

She had to bite her lip almost hard enough to draw blood to keep from cracking up, but she managed it. "Er . . . I'm pretty sure he has a girlfriend." _Or at least a bedmate . . . No, she'd worry about that distinction later._

Sighing dramatically, Dan said, "Damn. Why are all the hot ones straight?"

She patted his shoulder. "Not all of them, just most. Tell you what, I'll keep my eyes open for any non-straight guys in the building I think you might like."

He grinned. "We computer geeks don't get much socialization. Thanks, Detective."

She rolled her eyes as she waved goodbye. "Just call me Cupid."

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"I think we have more than enough to pick him up," Eames told Deakins a little while later. "With this computer evidence, we can link him to research on the drug and planning that involved it."

"But until we get the results back on the stuff we found in his coffee," Goren argued, "we can't show that he actually had the means."

"We've arrested lots of people before we had the results of lab work back," she retorted

"The kid isn't going anywhere, Alex. We don't need to bring him in yet."

Deakins, who had been watching the argument like it was a tennis match, blinked. Had Goren just called her "Alex"? He'd never done that before, at least in Deakins's presence.

"Oh, you want to tell that to Sara King if she gets attacked again?"

"He has no reason to attack her again! I'm telling you, we don't want to give him any more time to think his way out than we need to."

"You actually think he's going to outwit the famous Bobby Goren? What put a pinprick in your ego today?"

"Children!" barked Deakins. "Stop bickering, would you? You're giving me the kind of headache I usually only get when my girls start fighting."

"Well I just don't understand why he wants to hang back on this," Eames said. "We've been chasing the guy's trail for the better part of a week and it's getting ridiculous."

"Because we -" Goren began.

"Quiet!" Deakins said, holding up his hand to cut off whatever retort Goren had been about to make. "What did I just tell you about bickering? Listen: go to the gym, take a walk, fly a kite, I don't care - just go keep yourselves busy until we get the tox results. That means both of you," he added, noting the glares they gave each other. "Stay together, because I'm calling you back in as soon as I get the report. And for god's sake," he said as he waved them out the door, "don't kill each other."

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A/N 2: I hope "Dan" didn't offend anybody. I was trying very hard to make it clear that the humor was in _someone_ coming on to Bobby, not_ a man_ coming on to him. Dan just popped up into my mind when I tried to think of someone, and he turned out to be a pretty fun guy, I thought...


	26. Beginning of the end

A/N: I've been sooo blocked on this story! We're down to the last few chapters, and I suck at wrapping up loose ends and stuff, but I finally got this out. Next chapter should be the interrogation of Drew Kim...

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When they re-entered Deakins's office two hours later, they came bearing coffee, of the non-poisoned variety . . .

When Deakins had kicked them out, they had strolled down to the nearest Starbucks, still bickering over who should arrest Andrew Kim and when. The overpowering scent of coffee that surrounded them when they walked through the doors and into the coffeehouse had managed to reduce them both to silence. They'd just stood there inside the door for a second, and then she'd given him an elbow in the ribs and dashed for the counter, giving him a smug smile as she ordered her drink first and he stomped up behind her. "All's fair in love and coffee, Goren."

They'd just settled down into a pair of armchairs that sat in the corner of the Starbucks when Alex's phone rang. She threw back her head and groaned. "Why me?"

He gave her an amused look and handed her her coffee. "You drink. I'll answer it."

He didn't have to ask her twice; she sat quietly and sipped at her caramel mocha while she listened to her partner's side of the conversation:

"Goren." A pause. "No, this is hers. She's got her hands full so I picked it up."

A longer pause.

"Not quite yet, Captain," he said with a chuckle. "Give us a few years. What's up?"

She could hear the sound of Deakins speaking, but she couldn't make out the words.

"When?" Short pause. "What'd they turn up?" His eyes widened as he listened and a smile began to make its way across his face. "Ok, we're on our way. We're at Starbucks; you want us to grab you a drink while we're here?"

He held the phone a little away from his ear and she could hear Deakins babbling excitedly.

"That's fine, sir. American blend, black, and a cafe mocha," he repeated, motioning Alex to the counter. "We'll see you in a few minutes."

And so they'd arrived back at One PP, each carrying two cups of coffee and trying to drink from one of them while balancing the other.

"What's the word, Captain?" Eames asked as they made their way into his office.

"The word," Deakins said with a grin as he accepted his coffee from her, "is that the lab confirmed the brodifacoum."

Carver took his coffee from Goren's hand. "And that means that you've got your warrant whenever you're ready to exercise it. You can pick him up at your leisure."

The two detectives looked at each other. "Told you so," said Eames with a smirk.

"I never said he wasn't guilty," Goren argued, "I just said -"

"Oh for god's sake, not again!" Deakins interrupted. "Go fight over who's smarter at your desks, if you have to argue about it. You're wasting my time."

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"Time check?" Alex said as they returned to their desks.

"Four forty-five. What are you thinking?"

She rested her chin in her hand, considering their options. "We could go get him now, today, and jump right into it, or . . ."

"We could spend tonight organizing our information so we can pick him up tomorrow and have a solid plan," he finished.

"Right. What do you think?"

He grinned. "I think it gives me a good excuse to have you at my apartment tonight."

She threw her pen at him. "Bobby!"

"Sorry," he said, his smile not wavering as he rolled the pen back to her. "I think we should take the extra time, since Carver offered it to us. I don't like having all these loose ends, even if we do know who the perp is."

"Ditto. Wanna see if Deakins will let us duck out early?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Didn't you give me a lecture a few days ago for suggesting the same thing?"

"Female prerogative," she said airily. "Well?"

He looked thoughtful. "If we go now, that leaves us time to go to the grocery store so I can cook you dinner."

"Deal." She stood up eagerly. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around - you're the only male cop I know who can actually cook."

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"Ok, so," she said a few hours later, stretched out across two chairs in Bobby's kitchen, "We've got holes in a lot of stuff. Like motive: we've been assuming it was some kind of academic rivalry, but no one's been able to narrow it farther than that. We don't know what, specifically, set this off."

"Bad grades," he contributed, not turning away from the pan of mushrooms and garlic he was sautéing. "It's logical to assume that the direct reason for killing him was a matter of academic survival; if he kept getting bad grades from Li, he wouldn't have been kept around much longer. But you're right that we don't know what precipitated the actual event."

"I'm starving," she mock-whined, walking to him and slipping her arms around him from behind. "Cook faster."

He put down the spatula he'd been using and pushed her back with the newly-free hand. "Shoo. You know what happened the last time you started up while dinner was cooking."

"We ended up with a pot full of semolina mush. Ok, I can see your point." She gave him a quick squeeze, then returned to her chair and the pile of papers she'd been sorting through. "As I was saying, we've only got a skeleton for motive. Then there's means. We've got more on that; we have the poison directly linked from the vic's body to the suspect's kitchen, in a place where it shouldn't be, but . . . actually, it's not that we don't have it; it's just that we can't cement it."

"What?"

"How, exactly, he delivered the poison to the vic. I mean, it was in the coffee bag, and we found traces in the grinder, so it's logical to assume he ground it along with the coffee . . . but how do you not notice that your coffee is green?"

"Maybe he thought it was Irish coffee," he mumbled distractedly, adding chicken and a splash of wine to the pan.

She snorted. "Funny, Goren. I'm serious."

"I really don't think it's a vital link, not like having to establish what set off the killing."

"Ok, well what about opportunity? We still can't definitively place him at Li's apartment either of the two nights."

"Eames, weren't you fighting to get him arrested ASAP a few hours ago? What gives?"

"I'm playing devil's advocate before Carver gets a chance to. You'll thank me later."

He looked over his shoulder at her, raised his eyebrows, and murmured, "Oh, I don't doubt that."

"Eyes on the pan, buddy."

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"Who trained you so well?" she asked, watching him load the dishwasher as she dropped the pile of files on the coffee table and lay down on the couch after dinner. "You cook, you clean . . ."

He glanced at her, then looked back at the dishes. After a few seconds, he shut the dishwasher, wiped his hands off on a dishtowel, and walked over to the couch. "There weren't a lot of volunteers to do chores in the house when I was a kid. Especially not after mom got into the habit of breaking dishes instead of washing them," he said quietly.

"Crap." She closed her eyes. "I wasn't thinking, sorry."

"It's ok," he said, lifting her feet up so he could sit under them. "It's not really one of the bad memories."

"Ok," she said, looking thoughtful. Reaching out, she took her hand where he was resting it on her leg. "In that case . . . do you do toilets, too?"

"Alex!"

She giggled. "Sorry. Couldn't resist. I hate cleaning the bathroom."

"Are we gonna talk about toilets or are we gonna solve a murder tonight, Eames?"

"I think maybe we -" she began with a sly look on her face.

_Buzzzzzzz!_

Alex raised her eyebrows. "Expecting another date tonight?"

He shook his head. "Probably the super wanting to know if I broke the washer again."

" 'Again'? You broke a washing machine?"

"It wasn't my fault! One of my old shirts gave up the ghost and shredded in the spin cycle."

_Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!_

She swung her legs off his lap. "You going to answer that and take your punishment? He sounds pretty insistent."

He grinned. "You get it. He's got a thing for pretty women; if you charm him he might let me off the hook."

She sighed, standing up and meandering to the door. "Let me guess. He's 50-something, my height, weighs two hundred pounds, and never shaves?"

"Add in a stained wife-beater and you're pretty close."

"I swear," she said, flipping the cover on the peephole, "these guys must take classes in grungy- Fuck!"

"Grungy fuck?"

She backed away from the door. "No. Two separate sentences."

Now his attention was caught. "I'm assuming the super doesn't inspire you to vulgarity, so who's at the door?"

"No one."

He sighed and stood up. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"Then don't answer it!" she said, stepping in front of him.

"Alex, there's only one person you'd be trying to block me from, and if it's him at the door, he's got good enough hearing to know we're standing here arguing about it." He tried to reach past her to the doorknob. "Move."

"No."

He rolled his eyes and did what he'd done the last time she tried to block his way through a door: picked her up and deposited her a few feet to the side. He was pretty sure he heard her mutter, "Jackass," as he undid the locks.

Mike Logan stood outside the door, tapping his foot impatiently. He knew there was someone in there; he'd heard voices. He considered buzzing a third time, but before he could put his finger on the buzzer, the door swung open and he found himself face-to-face with Bobby Goren. At least, he was face-to-face with Goren for a second, before Goren yelped, "Ow!" and reached down to rub his leg and glare at someone behind him. As soon as Goren looked away, Logan found himself looking at Alex, instead, as she slipped in front of Goren.

"Go away," she said flatly. "I told him not to answer the door."

"Not happening, sweetheart. He and I have things to talk about."

"You've got nothing to talk - Bobby!" she exclaimed, cutting herself off as he bumped her to the side.

"What do you want, Logan? As you can see, she's not too pleased with you right now."

Logan glanced past Goren to Alex, who was glaring at him viciously. "I warned you what I'd do if you hit her."

Bobby sighed and leaned against the door jamb, surprised to find that he was more exasperated than angry. "I didn't hit her. You're an idiot to think I ever would."

"I saw the damn bruise!"

He raised his eyebrows and looked over his shoulder at Alex, who just shrugged impassively. "I don't know what you saw, but whatever it was, it wasn't from me."

"I told you I banged into the goddamn counter, Mike!"

"Forgive me if I don't believe you, after seeing what he does when he gets pissed!"

Alex groaned. "Bobby, just shut the door."

"Actually, I'm finding this kind of interesting," he replied, partially because he really did find it interesting and partially because it was an easy way to needle her. "Go on, Logan. What was it that you were, uh, going to do to me in return?"

"I'm going to kick your ass so you know what it feels like, if you'll stop hiding behind her and come out of the apartment."

"And what is it that I'd need to do to convince you . . . that I wouldn't hurt her?"

That stumped Logan. "Uh . . ."

"I've reached the conclusion," Alex spoke up loudly from behind Goren, "that this boils down to the same thing all arguments between guys boil down to: who's got the bigger dick."

Both men's jaws dropped and there was silence as they stared at her.

"Now," she went on, "would you like me to tell you more about how I reached this conclusion? Loudly? While the door's open? Or perhaps I could settle the contest . . ."

"No!" they both said.

"Then you have five seconds to either declare a cease-fire - in which case I suggest Logan come in and help us with the case - or decide that you're really intent on killing each other, in which case I'm shutting this door and you're going to have to find another time and place to duke this out."

The two men glared at each other.

"One."

Goren shifted his weight, but said nothing.

"Two."

Logan crossed his arms and switched to glaring at Alex.

"Three," she continued, glaring right back at him.

Bobby looked at her and opened his mouth, then shut it.

"Four," she said. "You gonna say something, Goren?"

He shook his head.

"Fi-"

"Oh for god's sake, get in here before she embarrasses us both," Goren ground out, pulling the door open wider.

"That's what I thought," she said with a pleasant smile as Logan stepped into the apartment. "Now, let's review. Bobby has never hit me. I am not sleeping with Logan. And if there is even one punch thrown tonight, I'm kicking you both out on the street and forgetting about the fact that this isn't my apartment to begin with. Are we clear?"

"Yes," Bobby said meekly, although he couldn't resist putting an arm around her waist, just because he knew he could.

"Fine," Logan growled.

"Good!" she said brightly. "Now, Logan, we were just about to discuss possibilities for a more specific motive . . ."


	27. Confession

Andrew Kim wasn't in his office when they arrived at the school the next morning. When they walked in, they saw only Sara King, who had a small bandage at her hairline and was sitting at her desk. "Alex!" she cried with a grin when she spotted them. "Uh, sorry - Detective Eames."

" 'Alex' is fine, Sara," she said with a smile. "How's the head?"

"It's ok. Hurts every now and then, but no concussion. The hospital gave me two Tylenol and sent me home."

"That's the best way to visit the hospital, if you have to go."

"No kidding." She paused and looked from Eames to Goren. "Mind if I ask why you guys are back?"

"Sara," Goren said, stepping forward, "uh, do you have any idea where Drew is at the moment? Does he have a class?" They already had the schedule he'd given to Eames, but it never hurt to make sure.

"You're looking for him? Why?"

Eames and Goren exchanged a look. "We need to ask him a few more questions," she said semi-truthfully.

"Oh. Well, unless he's changed things around, he should be teaching LING 101 until 5:30. That would be in . . . Dearborne Hall, I think. Room . . . 266? I'm not sure exactly of the room number."

"We can figure that part out," Goren said. "Have you spoken to him lately?"

"Yeah, sure. He was in here before he headed over there."

"How's he doing?" Alex asked casually.

"Uh, he seems pretty normal. Maybe a little jumpy. He said you searched his apartment."

"We did," Goren said with a nod.

"Is that what you need to talk to him about? I know Drew can be a jerk, but you can't really think he had something to do with this!"

"We're keeping open minds," Eames said reassuringly. "So listen, would you by any chance be able to sit in for him in his classes while we talk to him?"

She blinked. "Uh, I guess."

"Thanks. So, you said Dearborne Hall, room 266?"

"Yeah, but what . . ."

"We'll talk to you again later, Sara," Alex told her as they moved toward the door. "Thanks for your help."

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They arrived at Andrew Kim's classroom just as he dismissed his rowdy class of college freshmen. A stream of boys in baseball caps and girls in pajama pants flowed past them as they stood just inside the door, many of the students craning their necks to see the two adults who clearly didn't belong.

"Detectives," Kim said from his position on the dais when the room was empty except for them. "What can I do for you?"

They made their way down the steps that led from the raised rear of the lecture hall to the large open area in the front, which was surrounded by blackboards. "We were wondering if you'd mind answering a few more questions for us," Eames said, giving him a friendly smile.

"Well, uh," Kim hedged, looking at his watch, "I have class at -"

"Yeah, we know," Goren said shortly, cutting him off. Then, switching smoothly to the bumbling-detective persona that had worked on Kim once before, he rubbed the back of his neck and went on, "It's, uh, kind of important."

"_Very _important," Eames said with a solemn nod.

Kim looked over his shoulder at his desk. "I guess I could give you a few minutes."

"Great!" Goren said with a vapid grin. "Do you want to catch a ride with us, or do you have a car?"

"Huh?"

Eames gave her partner a weary look, then looked back at Kim and smiled apologetically. "He has a bad habit of skipping over details because he's in such a hurry to get to the point. What he should have said was that we'd like to ask you the questions back at our headquarters. You know, just so we can get it all on tape, which makes it more convenient if we need to refer back to your statement later."

"Well, but I have classes . . ."

"Your officemate offered to take notes for you," Goren said with a wave of his hand. "What was her name again?" he said, looking to Alex as if he needed her to refresh his memory. "Sally? Sandra?"

"Sara," Drew snapped. "Her name is Sara, and why did you talk to her?" he asked defensively.

"Just stopped by to say hello on our way here," Eames said lightly. "So you're covered for this afternoon. Ready to come downtown with us?"

"I guess. I have to go back to my office for my car keys, though."

"That's fine; we'll meet you at One Police Plaza," Goren said. "Oh, but Andrew . . . if you don't show up within an hour, we'll find you and charge you with . . ." He paused for a moment as he rummaged through this brain for something that sounded threatening but not dangerous. "Obstructing justice." Giving the boy a casual smile, he led his partner from the room.

A few minutes later, as they exited the building, she looked up at him. "What's your feeling on this?"

"He'll show. We haven't put him enough on edge for him to consider running."

"The Obstruction thing was a nice touch," she acknowledged as they reached the car. "I think he's officially put you in the 'big dumb cop' category."

"That reminds me - you might need to either back off or go for his throat in the interview if his bias toward women comes out."

She sighed and buckled her seatbelt. "If I didn't know you were right, I'd be offended by that."

"Don't worry, I'll let you play with him too."

"Damn right you will," she said with a grin. "Ready to go?"

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"So, Drew," Eames said exactly an hour later, "how've things been going for you lately?"

The student scowled. "You mean other than the fact that my advisor's dead and the police tore apart my apartment?"

"Yeah. Besides that."

"Things have been fine," he said expressionlessly. "Why did you drag me back here?"

Alex heard Goren draw in a breath and knew it was a signal to let him ask the next question.

"Yeah, uh, sorry we had to interrupt your day," Goren said, "but it's just . . . you know, we have a few more questions for you. About . . . holes. Things we haven't been able to flesh out."

Drew stared hard at Goren for a second. "Do I need a lawyer for this?"

Eames sat forward and said calmly, "You're not under arrest at this point, Drew. But of course, if you'd like a lawyer anyway, that's fine."

"Oh." He crossed his arms and slumped back in his chair. "Ask the questions, then I'll decide."

"Why don't you tell us about your relationship to Dr. Li," Goren suggested. "Were you friendly, did he help you with any research . . .?"

"Of course we were friendly; he was my advisor!"

"Right, but . . . it _was_ him who wrote that nasty note we found in your records, wasn't it?"

"I can't explain that."

"So you never got the impression he thought you were less than capable?" Alex tossed out.

"No."

"So then, your grades," Goren said, sliding a copy of Kim's transcript across the table, "those didn't make you wonder what was going wrong?"

Drew sputtered for a moment, then managed, "No! I told you before, everyone has a bad class or two."

"A class or two?" Goren echoed incredulously. "You've had _seven_. And all of them were taught by Li. Now tell me . . . ah, how could that not raise a red flag for someone like you, someone who was obviously intelligent enough to be admitted into grad school in the first place?"

Drew blinked and looked around the room at nothing, obviously buying time. "Those seven were hard subjects. I wasn't the only one who did badly."

"But you _were _the only one who did badly in all seven of them."

"So I had bad luck! What do you want from me?"

Goren gave him a small smile. "Well, if you really want to know, I'm _very _interested in how you claim syntax as your specialty and yet you've gotten a B or below in every syntax class you've taken. Uh, with the exception of one, taught by a Dr. . . . Yamamoto."

"Grades aren't everything," Kim replied, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as well as Goren. "They're not the only thing jobs look at when they're hiring."

"Right, right," Goren said, re-opening the folder that held Drew Kim's school records. "They'd look to see if you maybe did any extracurricular work, if you've published in any respectable journals, if you've received awards. But . . . you haven't done any of that, either. Your records are a clean slate except for this one little transcript," he said, dangling the print-out in front of him. "Obviously I'm missing something," he went on with an abashed chuckle. "Why don't you set me straight."

"It's . . ." Drew chewed his bottom lip for a second. "I don't see what bearing my grades have on Dr. Li getting killed! If you're going to keep wasting my time like this, I'm out of here."

"Hey, no problem," Goren said, raising his hands in surrender. "We can talk about something else."

"Like the last night you were at Dr. Li's apartment," Alex added. "When did you say that was?"

"It was, uh . . ." He paused; it was obvious that he was trying to remember his previous story. "Two nights before his body was found."

She clenched her teeth to hide a predatory smile. "Two nights before he was found, huh? That's interesting . . . last time I asked you that question, you said it was two nights before he _died_. A slip of the tongue?"

"I, uh . . ."

"Tell us about what you did the last night you were over there," Goren went on, not giving him time to recover his composure. "Whatever night it happened to be."

"Uh, we were re-writing chapter two of my dissertation. I went over there for dinner, like I usually do for re-writes. We'd always have dinner, then work on the writing."

"Aw, come on, Drew," he said with a teasing scoff. "That doesn't tell us anything! I'm asking about that specific night."

"I don't . . . I don't know exactly! Why would I remember that one night?"

"Oh, just stop screwing with us," Alex said indignantly. "You're telling us you were working on a rewrite of your masterpiece with this guy, and you can't even remember tell us what changes you made to the chapter?"

"Let's start with the easy stuff," Goren said. "What did you do first, eat or work?"

"We ate."

"What'd you eat?"

"We, uh . . . spaghetti, I think."

"Who cooked it?"

"He did. I'm a terrible cook."

"How about dessert or coffee?" Eames said. "Did you have either?"

"Neither of us likes sweets much. We just had coffee and then we got to work. Why are you asking me this stuff?" he said agitatedly.

Goren looked surprised. "Well, you said you couldn't remember. We're just trying to . . . jog your memory. See how well it's working?"

"Who made the coffee?" Eames continued quickly, hoping to catch him off guard.

"I did, he sa-" His mouth snapped shut. "What does it matter?"

She lightly kicked Goren's ankle under the table, indicating he should pick up the questioning.

"The more of the, uh, little, inconsequential details you can remember, the more likely the big stuff is to come back to you."

"What big stuff?"

"The big stuff like what day it was that you had this dinner. But you know," he continued, standing up and leaning casually against the wall, "we can always come at this from another direction. We can . . . we can try process of elimination! Like, say, what were you doing the night before he died? That would be the . . . fifteenth."

"I was . . . at home. Writing." Drew was becoming visibly nervous now.

"On the fifteenth?" Alex asked. "All night? Alone?"

"Yeah, until I went to bed."

Goren put his hand to his mouth thoughtfully. "Well see, we think you might have done something other than that. Because this," he said, shoving Li's appointment book at the boy, "says you were supposed to be working with your advisor that night."

"Okay, so maybe that's the night I worked with him," Kim said defensively. "That's not the night he was killed, anyway."

Alex leaned back in her chair again and smiled. "Actually, the fifteenth _was_ the night he was killed."

"No it wasn't!" Drew retorted.

"And what makes you think that?"

"Because he died the next night!"

"How . . . how do you know that?" Goren said curiously. "I mean, time of death is, well . . ." He laughed. "It's a tricky thing."

The was a pause, then: "You guys told me that's when he died!"

Eames raised her eyebrows. "I didn't tell him that. Did you tell him that?" she said, looking at Goren.

"No, but . . ." He took a quick breath. "He _is _right that Li died on the sixteenth. It's just that that's not when he was killed."

"What's the difference?" the boy challenged.

"Because, see . . . he died from an overdose of a chemical called brodifacoum," Goren said. "Commonly used as rat poison."

"And an interesting property about the family of chemicals brodifacoum belongs to is that they have a delayed effect," Eames added. "Symptoms don't start to show until at least a full day after it's ingested."

"Which means," Bobby finished, "that since he died on the night of the sixteenth, then he was killed - given the poison - on the fifteenth."

Drew's eyes widened as he realized that these people knew much more than they'd been letting on. "I didn't . . . I'm not . . ."

"You hated him, didn't you?" Goren prodded. "He was standing in the way of your success."

"No! He was -"

"He had something against you," Eames cut him off. "He was trying to sabotage your career by ruining your grades. I can see how that would piss you off."

"And, of course," Goren added, "you couldn't just switch advisors. That would go on record, and then you'd have to explain the switch when you went job-hunting. I mean, you can't . . ." He laughed dismissively. "You can't exactly tell Harvard that you stopped working with James Li because you kept failing his classes!"

Alex leaned forward and caught the boy's eyes. "You were stuck, Drew! You were backed into a corner. He wasn't leaving you any choice!"

Bobby nodded vehemently. "You _had _to act. I mean, what did he think you were going to do? Sit there and let him dump on you for as long as he wanted?"

Kim shook his head. "No! I didn't have . . . ok, so maybe I didn't like him too much, but that doesn't mean I . . .!"

"You couldn't take it anymore," Eames went on as if he hadn't spoken. "He was doing everything he could to hurt you, to make your life difficult."

"So you did a little research. You tried to think of a way to make him suffer a million little injustices the same way he did to you."

"No! Why would I want to . . . I didn't hurt him!"

"Sure you did, Drew!" Goren said a little louder. "You had a thousand reasons to want to hurt him, and even if you discounted the emotional ones, there were still the logistic ones! As long as he was alive, your reputation wouldn't be worth shit!"

"What made you think of the bleeding, Drew?" Alex said softly. "Did you happen to see something about warfarins or hemophilia? It made you think a little, wonder how you could arrange that?"

"I don't . . ."

"He would have been dead anyway, just from the poison you put in his coffee," Goren said. "The cuts . . . they were just your way of teaching him one last lesson. You couldn't let him just die in one fell swoop. That would be too easy, too compassionate. And when the hell did he show you any compassion?" He banged his fist on the table at his last words, underlining the anger and resentment the boy must have felt.

"He didn't!" Kim yelled. "He didn't show me any goddamn compassion, he was a son of a bitch, but that doesn't . . . it doesn't mean . . ."

"It doesn't mean you killed him?" Alex supplied. "Maybe it wouldn't . . . _if _we hadn't found the rat poison mixed into a bag of coffee beans in your kitchen, and the same poison mixed with coffee grounds in Li's grinder. I don't know about you, Goren," she added with a smirk, looking at her partner, "but I don't store lethal substances in my coffee. That, Andrew, _is_ a pretty clear indicator that you killed the guy.

Goren tilted his head to the side and studied Kim's face. "You would have had to go home to China if you were dropped from the program, wouldn't you? You would have had to face your family and have them all know you were a failure, that you couldn't play with the big boys?"

"No!" Drew eyes were getting wider and he was looking back and forth between the two detectives as they hammered at him.

"Yeah, you would have. We checked your immigration status, Drew. You're here on a restricted educational visa. And you weren't going to make it through another semester here if you didn't do something about Li."

"I didn't . . . I could have . . ."

Eames nodded. "Yeah, maybe you could have figured something out. But that wouldn't have been nearly as satisfying, would it? You would have had to bite your tongue, kiss Li's ass, pretend he wasn't damaging your reputation. Pretend he wasn't going to do it to anyone else. Unless, that is," she said slowly, "you did something about it."

Goren's eyes widened almost imperceptibly and he smiled. Alex had just given him an idea. "Dr. Li didn't like women much, did he?" he asked, returning for the moment to a conversational tone of voice.

"He didn't like anyone!"

"But he especially didn't like women, right? Like, say, Sara?"

Eames's eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch as she took in the tone of Goren's voice and began to catch on. "You share an office with her, so you were probably privy to all the bad grades Li was giving her. Syntax was the field she wanted to work in, wasn't it?"

Drew swallowed. "Yes. But she was doing just fine in her classes."

"You're forgetting," Goren said mildly, "that she showed us one of her assignments he graded. _Covered_ in red ink. All kinds of nasty comments. He _tore her work apart_!" he went on, his voice rising with each sentence. "Having him destroy you was one thing, but you could have put up with that. But for him to go after _her_? She's brilliant! What right does he have to try to knock her down just because he felt like it?"

"She _is _brilliant!" Drew shouted back. "She is, and I went over those assignments with her, and they were _good_. They were 'A' work, not 'D'!"

"And that's why you broke into his office and yours?" Goren said. "To eliminate the records of those Ds?"

"Yes! I didn't want those to be permanent!"

"And you knew she had no chance of getting out from under Li," Eames said, a hint of sympathy in her voice. "He hated women, thought they were all incompetent. He would keep giving her bad grades just to support his own prejudices."

Kim let out a shuddering breath. "He would have done it! Just because he felt like it!"

"Does Sara know you feel this strongly about her?" Goren asked quietly.

"There's no reason for her to know," he said with a sigh. "We broke up months ago. I . . . she would only be hurt by it now."

"She going to be even more hurt to find out that you killed a man, Andrew," Alex said gently. "Tell us what happened, and at least that way she'll know you're not just a cold-blooded murderer. You were provoked and you were protecting someone you care about. That counts for a lot in life."

He seemed to choke on his own breath for a long moment. "I . . . you have to make her understand. Don't let her get involved in this."

"We'll do our best," Alex said, touching his hand, "but you have to tell us the truth."

"I . . . I . . ." He stopped, took a deep breath. "I killed him. I knew something had to happen or else Sara and I would both be ruined. It was . . . it was just a vague idea, that I had to do something to get rid of him, and then I was watching TV and there was this . . . there was a documentary on TV about medical emergencies in animals, and there was a dog that . . . it ate r-rat poison and it . . . the doctors talked about how if they cut into its skin the whole thing would just be a mass of blood, and it d-died . . ."

"So you started wondering if the same thing would happen to a human?" Eames asked.

"Yes. I went online . . . and I searched for the brand name, and then the ingredients . . . and I found webpages about warfarin and brodifacoum and what happened when a human i-ingested too much . . . All I had to do was buy it in the grocery store and get him to eat it. I knew it probably tasted bad, so I tried to think of what food would cover the taste, and he . . . he drank his coffee b-black and it was bitter and I thought maybe that would work . . . and so the next time he invited me over to work I offered to bring a bag of gourmet coffee and I just put the pellets into the bag and dumped some in and started grinding it . . ."

"Whoa," Goren said holding up a hand. "Take a breath. Eames, could you . . .?"

She nodded and left the room, returning a minute later with a cup full of water that she set in front of the boy.

He sipped at it hesitantly, his hand shaking. "Thank you. What was I . . ."

"You were telling us about putting it in his coffee," Goren prompted.

"Oh. I made his coffee with the poison in the grounds, and he drank it, and I just watched him as he did it and pretended I was proofreading my chapter. And then I just . . . went home. And I went back the next night, and I knocked on his door . . . he looked like he was getting ready for bed, and I asked him if he felt ok and he said it felt weird to breathe . . . and he kind of stumbled, and I just . . . I pushed him down and I, uh . . . I kicked him. He groaned and I did it again because I was afraid if he got up then I couldn't knock him back down. And then I . . . I had a box cutter and I . . . I cut . . . and the blood . . . he kept trying to talk but I pretended not to hear him, and the blood . . . he was bleeding all over everything and every time I cut him I thought, 'Every little comment you made on her papers hurt this much' . . . and then eventually he just . . . he just stopped moving and he . . . I . . ."

The boy's tenuous control finally broke and he laid his head on the table, sobbing. Alex stood up and put one hand lightly on his back, pulling out her handcuffs with the other. "Andrew Kim, you're under arrest for the murder of James Li. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney; if you cannot afford one one will be provided for you . . ."

As Alex led the boy from the room, Goren crossed to the observation room and looked in on Carver and Deakins. Both men looked slightly shocked. "It was one thing when I thought he did it as revenge for himself," Deakins said slowly, "but knowing he did it for the girl . . ."

Carver shook his head slowly. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions."

THE END

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A/N: Well? What do we think? I know some of you were hoping to get better closure on the Logan thing, but I really don't think that would be doable without writing another, like, 10 chapters of just angst...which is just lame without plot. So I'm leaving the resolution up to your imaginations :)

A/N 2: ProfSnape, when I read your review of chapter 26 I was totally planning on having the motive just be academic, but then Sara snuck her way in here as I was writing it and I was like, "hmmm, someone _did _mention that they thought it should be more..." So partial credit for the motive goes to you :)


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